


Fear Itself

by AnonymousMink



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: AU, Abusive Parents, Alternate Origin Story, College Setting, Dark Romance, Everyone is over 21, F/M, Medication, Mental Health Issues, Origin Story, Original Character(s), Professor/Student Relationship, Semi-Slow Burn, gratitous use of fear toxin, twisted relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-06-15 04:48:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 37,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15405327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousMink/pseuds/AnonymousMink
Summary: Katrina’s world is changed all at once, not with a bang, but a scream.A third year student at Gotham university she finds her life being shaped by two very different people, her brilliant psychology Professor, Jonathan Crane, and the nameless creature stalking the campus at night. The one who brings fear to all who meet them. Fear she’s beginning to crave.She never even considered that they might be one and the same.(Crane x OC fic, some comic and cartoon elements mixed together with a whole lot of AU-ness, pre-scarecrow Crane to start with)





	1. Convivophobia

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! Thanks so much for giving this fic a chance, it’s one I’ve wanted to write for a while so I hope if you do read it you enjoy it! I have to start by giving a massive shout out and thank you to Kachina for being the best alpha reader and friend to me during this, thank you so much for encouraging me to continue! 
> 
> This fic deals with some real world mental health issues but in an obviously fictionalised way, so warning for that and apologies for any inaccuracies. Katrina’s experiences (whilst not particularly well researched) are based on some of my own brushes with the wrong medication. It also contains a less than healthy relationship between two flawed human beings.
> 
> Any way! That being said, thanks again for opening this up and I hope if you do enjoy it you consider leaving a comment! They mean the world to me :-)

 

The first day back was always hectic.

The campus was buzzing with life, late summer sunshine stripping the students of their shirts and inhibitions as they crowded the quad. The world seemed to have been overtaken with fliers and class schedules, neon sign up sheets flapping in the breeze as the honking of moving vans screamed in the distance.

And still it didn't really touch her.

Katrina passed through it all like a leaf in a river, pushed by whatever current was flowing, not enough energy to protest. Not enough energy to do anything but get the next thing done, which was... was... oh yeah, checking her class schedule.

Huffing out a breath she rifled through her welcome packet, sifting through the paper debris they stuffed in every year in search of her schedule. It was hidden beneath a pamphlet on STIs and a student council leaflet, she'd barely had the chance to pull it free before it was snatched from her hand.

“Ooooh taking Intro to Psych this year, huh? Tough luck,” Caleb. Of course it was Caleb. The upperclassman squinted at the paper like it was the Rosetta Stone, “that means Crane, he hates every psychiatric method but his own, but he’ll still quiz you mercilessly on everything anyway. Do not skip the reading. Barrow is alright for English Lit I hear though, ah and Chambers for Comp. Not bad, not bad.”

“Can I have my schedule back, please?” Katrina sighed, sweat trickling down the back of her neck as the sun beat down on them. She’d wanted to be back at the apartment by now, where there was air conditioning. And quiet.

“What? Oh yeah, sure.” It was thrust back at her, Caleb grinning so widely she could see his one chipped canine. Football injury, he’d told her, not that she’d asked. “So, you going to Jeffers party tonight?”

“I can’t,” tucking the paper carefully into her folder she threw out the first excuse she could think of, “I still have to unpack.”

“Lame, c’mon we can-”

“Is this overgrown orangutan bothering you Kat?”

Saved by the Jenn.

“Jennifer, don’t tell me you missed me!” Caleb’s smile didn’t falter as Katrina's roommate appeared from the crowd, pretty face fixed in a scowl as she barged between them.

“Not even a little,” Jenn sniffed, yanking on Katrina's arm, “come on Kat we’re gonna be late.” Katrina didn’t protest as she was marched off, even as Jenn glared at her, barely waiting until they had turned the corner before adding, “I don’t know why you bother with him girl, he’s such a loser.”

“He bothered me technically,” Katrina pointed out mildly as Jenn elbowed their way through the crowd like a one woman people plough. Students jumping to clear a path before them when they saw Jenn coming.

“Still, you gotta be careful of that one.” Jenn pouted, tossing her inky black hair over her shoulder and thwacking Katrina in the face with it, “He’s such a man whore.”

“He said that Professor Crane might be difficult for Intro to Psych,” Katrina replied for want of anything else to say, pulling a loose strand of hair from her face, “he’s the department head, right?”

“Yeah,” Jenn’s attention had already pulled away from her, turning to stare behind them every few minutes like Caleb might have followed them, “Lanky dude with glasses, totally creepy looking.”

“Oh,” stashing her folder safely in her messenger bag Katrina turned to look where Jenn was steering them, hoping vaguely it might be back towards their apartment off campus. She really did have to unpack, two boxes of books waited for her at the foot of her bed. Not to mention the rest of her stuff.

“Anyway, hey!” Jenn’s expression brightened, gesturing towards the road that led off campus in the direction of the nearby shopping centre, “now I’ve found you you can help me find a dress for Jeffers party tonight, we have to go.”

“But I was going to-”

“What? Sit in your room reading?” Jenn pulled her face, “Get it together Kat, it’s our first night of freedom and we are partying!”

Katrina felt another sigh dragging its way up through her chest, the day unfurling in front of her in an inescapable haze of loud music and sweaty dudes she didn’t know. Still, she should at least try to make the effort to get herself free of it.

“Caleb said he was going to be there,” she tried, the little spark of hope dying as instead of turning Jenn off it only seemed to encourage her more.

“So what?” Jenn beamed, baring her expensive orthodontics as she threaded her arm through Katrina’s “We're not gonna let him spoil our fun, come on, it’s gonna be a total girls night!”

 

✵✵✵

 

Girls night lasted an entire fifteen minutes before Jenn disappeared.

Sigma house throbbed with people, Jeffrey ‘Jeffers’ Holiday hosting his back to school party in the usual fashion. Passing out alcohol to anyone who asked and hollering at anything that moved over the ear-splitting music.

Katrina shuffled her feet, back braced against the far wall as she nursed a solo cup of warm beer and tried to enjoy herself. She could dance she supposed, but she wasn’t very good at it, or talk to someone maybe. Cos she was _so_ much better at that.

Or keep standing here silently like a spare part, that was always an option.  
God, where was Jenn? Or Abby from next door? At this rate she’d settle for Caleb. Someone she knew to pass the time with before she could politely leave and go back to unpacking.

 _Come_ _on_ _Katrina_ , she chided herself unenthusiastically as something bubble-gummy and bassy started playing over the speakers, _make_ _the_ _effort_.

Straightening up from her slump she took a step into the room, then another. Then she wobbled.

The room had gone tipsy beneath her feet. She blinked, attention turning to the cup in her hand. Her first of the night.  
Katrina had always been a lightweight when it came to booze sure, but not that much of a lightweight.

So… had someone roofied her? Jesus that would suck. But no… no she’d watched the beer come out of the keg with her own eyes and hadn’t put it down since. But then why was her heart suddenly beating so fast?

She took another careful step forward, stumbling awkwardly towards the front door as the world tilted around her. The crowd became a dull roar, too many people. There were too many. All crammed in tight as she shivered and shook, ice clawing beneath her skin as they closed in on her and she broke into a half run.

She burst from the front door like a cork from a bottle, the music quieting enough that she could fully appreciate how loud her pulse was rushing in her ears. Ba-doom ba-doom ba-doom. A bass drum thud she felt in every limb and organ as she stumbled to a halt on the front porch.

Blinking, she forced herself to look around. The lawn was almost as bad as inside, the party spilling out into a mess of figures. Shadowy figures. Looming and writhing and… God, she’d been cold before but now her skin was _boiling_ , itching as she struggled to pull her cardigan off. Sweat drenched and short of breath. Like her lungs were closing up on her.

“Kat - Kat!” Katrina yelped as bony fingers snapped into her arms, a strangled laugh escaping her as Jenn’s face edged out of the mist.

Jumpy, she was actually being jumpy. When was the last time that had happened?

“Jenn- I think we should - I think we should go home.” She managed to say, words coming out like balloons and floating away into the black sky.

“I don’t feel well, Kat,” Jenn replied like she hadn’t heard her at all. Her face sickly pale.

“Let’s sit down,” her head swung around, the feeling on a five second delay as she spotted a swing in a shadowy corner that seemed to be free of life, “for a - a sec. Yeah.”

She didn’t wait to see if Jenn would follow as she crossed the porch, her knees had gone rubbery. Ribs aching as her heart beat faster and faster and faster.

Fuck.

 _Fuck_.

What was wrong with her? Adrenaline stung her tongue, bitter and unfamiliar as she sank into the cushions. A live wire through her veins. She swore she could feel her bones actually shaking, trying to claw their way out of her as she stared around the roiling lawn.

Color.

It was like seeing in color. Blood stained red and rotting green, disgusting but weirdly beautiful as the writhing figures began to shriek and roll. She couldn’t look away, couldn’t think through the panic tightening her chest even as she marveled at it.

Even as _they_ appeared.

It started with a high pitched giggle, a sing song murmuring, then they emerged. The clink-scrape-shuffle of porcelain limbs on the sidewalk as they approached, glass eyes shining.

“Play with us,” they said through frozen painted lips, heads tilting at an impossible angle as they crept along the path, “play with us Trina.”  
There was the girl with the bright yellow ringlets who’d sat on the top shelf, and behind her - the sailor boy with the moth eaten hat. Oh God no, the worst, the girl with the porcelain sculpted smile and the hairline crack that ran right through her face.

They’d found her. They’d found her. They’d found her-

 

✵✵✵

 

Jonathan Crane examined the campus paper closely, lips thinning to repress a smile as he took in the headline.  
Mysterious Terror Breaks out at Sigma Party, Authorities Suspect Hazing Prank Gone Wrong.

The idiots had no idea. As if one of those animals could have concocted such a thing, it was beyond the limits of their beer-drowned, lust-addled imaginations. Not his though, his head was clear, his path unfurling with an icy clarity.

His legacy would be one of genius and fear. Of liberation through terror itself.  
And this experiment was only the beginning.

The plan had gone smoothly, even if he’d had to sit in his car for two hours waiting for the drug to kick in, the tampered keg sitting like a time bomb in the midst of their party. He’d parked up across the street, just close enough to see the house without arousing suspicion, his lights off, windows darkened, flinching every time the revellers passed by too close.

Not the ideal spot but it had served its purpose, allowing him to witness and catalogue the reaction first hand, completely unnoticed.

The first sign was the stumbling, just after half eleven, the youths crowding the lawn outside the frat house started visibly shaking, gaping at each other in cartoon horror. Then the screaming began like a symphony and every minute of waiting had been worth it.

The effects hadn’t lasted nearly long enough, only sustaining ten minutes or so before the students started recovering, but it was a start. He’d always known an aerosol would be a far superior dispersal mechanism but he had to work with what he could get, it was only a first step after all.

Once he’d streamlined the process and refined the formula then he could really start to see results. Anyway, he needed to boost the adrenaline compound if he was going to stick with oral administration for the time being, maybe if he double boiled the ingredients first...

The lecture room doors clicked open, dragging him from his thoughts as students began to file in. Right, his day job. Sliding the newspaper away he straightened up, adjusting his tie as the seats began to fill.

Third year 'Intro to Psychology,' how very beneath him. Still, the university paid the bills and gave him room to experiment with his other… passions. And anyway this class at least had one very special advantage. It seemed like five of the known victims of the Frat Party Fear were in it, the others had received a message asking them to meet with him for counselling. But these… these he could keep a much closer eye on.

“This isn’t how I wanted to start this class,” he announced once the students had settled, glancing over them firmly even as he fought the blush that threatened every time he was forced in front of an audience, “but as head of Psychology I have been asked by the faculty to speak to all of those affected by the recent… incident at Sigma house. So if the following students could stay after class to arrange a suitable meeting time I would be very grateful, David Allen, Marcus Chang, Jennifer Halls, Reema Singh,” he reeled the names off, cataloguing each reaction, “and Katrina Vassal.”

He spotted each in turn, noting the wary glance they gave the room as he named them. Hunched shoulders and haunted eyes, the faces of people who’d realized the depth of true fear.

All except one.

The girl at the edge of the room glanced up at her name, looking entirely nonplussed at the situation. More than that, almost… wistful.

Of course it was _her_.

Katrina Vassal.

The name had stuck out to him from the moment he’d first seen it. After years of being ridiculed for his own resemblance to Washington Irving’s infamous tale he couldn't help but notice hers. Tall and gangly, he had been branded and beaten down by the legacy of Ichabod Crane, the coward of Sleepy Hollow, since he was a child.

He doubted Katrina ' _Van_ _Tassal_ ' Vassal had borne the same scars, not with her cupid bow mouth and shining bronze hair.

He frowned as she met his gaze, trying not to glare at the infuriatingly calm reaction even as a thread of curiosity pulled at him. There would be time to follow up with them all later, and adjust the dosage.

In the meantime however, he had a class to teach.

“Now that’s over, let me introduce myself. I am Professor Crane, and I can only assume if you’ve taken this class it’s because you’re ready to widen your understanding of the human mind.” Chalking the letters up on the board he allowed himself a small smile, “And this recent unfortunate incident leads us directly into our first consideration when examining any psychological issue, fear.”

 

✵✵✵

 

The girl with the wrong reaction

was the last one at his desk at the end of the class, lingering at the back of the knot of traumatized students like she was in another world.

“Miss Vassal?” she stepped forward at her name, just a few letters off of a fictional character with eyes wide enough he could almost believe she’d stepped from the pages of a book herself, “Will you have time to speak with me on Friday?”

He forced himself not to scowl as she blinked calmly at him, trying to look understanding even as she swayed to a halt in front of his desk. She was a cliche, almost ridiculously waifish with her wide eyes and soft lilac dress. She should have been more scared than any of them, haunted and horrified.

She should be _something_.

So why wasn’t she?

“I have class until five,” her voice was soft, something old fashioned to it as she clutched her half empty soft drink to her chest, peach flavored iced tea, “but anytime after that would be fine.”

“Five thirty then.” He scribbled the note after her name, jaw tensing as he issued the familiar instructions. Fighting the childish urge to jump at her just to try and get a _reaction_ , “My office is one floor up from here, room 219.”

He was above that. Better than that. And he would have his answers soon enough.  
“Of course,” she nodded, half turning before she added, “Professor Crane, your lecture today… I enjoyed it”

He swallowed without meaning too, startled at the quiet admission. “Thank you, Miss Vassal, until Thursday then.”  
“Until then.” She was already retreating, that same strange air to her as she carefully shut the door behind her.  
Katrina Vassal was an anomaly, one he had every intention of correcting.

 

 

 

 


	2. Anthropophobia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading this! I really hope you enjoy it, and if you do please consider leaving a comment! They make my day <3

Jenn had come back from her meeting pale faced and determined to forget about the whole thing. Kat noticed she'd been that way since the incident happened, Jenn throwing herself back into college life with a vengeance. Laughing louder, screaming harder, partying and sleeping and living with the sort of manic intensity that left Kat feeling more hollow than ever.

Even the nights Kat found her roommate curled up in the bathroom crying over something she wouldn’t talk about, shaking hands clenched tight around her waist, Kat couldn’t help but feel a little… well, _jealous_ of her.

Was that entirely sick?

Jenn was feeling all of it. The good and bad and ugly emotions. All Kat felt was wistful, her life turning gray around her again now that the fear had worn off, the whole thing becoming nothing more than a horrific memory no matter how hard she dragged on it.

She _wanted_ to feel it. The fireworks in her chest, the brightness behind her eyes, the soul squeezing terror of it all.  
But she didn’t. Couldn't.

She was an echo again.

Sighing to herself Katrina approached the door to Professor Crane’s office, half stepping back when he answered after a single knock. She hadn’t realized how tall he was from her seat in the lecture hall, there he’d been imposing but human. Now he was almost otherworldly as he towered over her. Pinched and wraithlike.

“Miss Vassal, I’m pleased you could make it.” He said stiffly, looking like something from a gothic novel with his sharp features and dark eyes.

She could have written an essay on his conformation to jungian archetypes. But that would have been inappropriate.

“I hope I’m not late Professor,” she ducked her head, realising she’d been staring. Also inappropriate. A distant pang of nervous energy echoed through her, taking her by surprise as she followed him into his office.

“Not at all,” he waved her into a seat, folding himself down behind the desk and letting her breathe a little easier, “you’re right on time. Can I get you a drink, some tea perhaps?”

“No, no thank you, I’m fine.”

There was no sense in dragging this out after all, there wasn’t that much to say and anyway, she got the feeling Professor Crane didn’t like her very much.

Then again, what was there to like?

“Very well, let’s get right too it. You were at the Sigma House _gathering_ , correct?” There was the faintest trace of distaste in his voice as he said it, distaste and the shadow of a southern accent. She hadn’t noticed that before. “On the night of the incident?”

“I was,” she nodded, adjusting her bag in her lap, “it wasn’t a particularly pleasant experience even before the terror broke out.”

“You would describe your experience as one of terror then?” He steepled his fingers, long and pale and bony. They seemed made for pianos, no, church organs… buried deep underground where the mournful sound could echo properly.  
 _Focus_ _Kat_ , she reminded herself, clearing her throat awkwardly as she nodded, “I… yes, I think so.”

She wasn’t lying, not technically, but the half truth still sat heavily with her, stomach quietly churning as she met his gaze. It had been terrifying, but it had also been so much _more_ than that.

“You don’t sound sure,” Professor Crane tilted his head at her, reaching up and removing his thick-rimmed glasses. “I can only help you if you’re willing to be honest. Do you understand?”

His eyes pinned her in place, she realised dimly they were golden brown. Like honey, no, amber. The kind with insects trapped inside it, their last throes of death kept perfectly preserved.

“Yes,” she nodded, chest flushing guiltily as her heart picked up it's usually steady rhythm just a little, “it’s just… well… it sounds crazy to say it aloud.”

Everything about that night had been crazy, but her reaction… well that was down right certifiable.

“I’ve spent the last three days listening to stories about gremlins, killer bees and sentient shoes bent on murder,” there was almost a warmth in his voice when he said it, a faint smile on his lips as he looked right through her, “trust me, Miss Vassal, nothing you could tell me would surprise me in the least.”

She hesitated, strangely elated at her own nerves even as she tried to hold onto his words for support. He was a professional after all, but then again so was her mother and Katrina hadn’t told her what had happened.

Hadn’t told anyone her guilty little secret.

What was wrong with her that that had been the best thing that had happened to her in recent memory? She must have been sick. _Really_ sick. The kind of messed up that nothing could fix, the kind that should be kept inside where it couldn’t be held against her.

But the Professor was still looking at her and she found she couldn’t look away. Couldn’t lie. Just another bug in amber.

“It was terrifying,” she admitted after a breath, pulse rushing in her ears as the words fell, “but it was also well, not good exactly, but the- the fear…” she broke off, praying she was making sense even as she admitted the worst of it, “I haven’t felt anything like it before.”

He was still watching her, hawk still and so silent she almost kept talking just to fill the void. It was suddenly far too hot in the little room, the air conditioner thunking weakly above them as sweat beaded along her spine.

“Some people have an elevated response to fear stimuli, like watching a scary movie or going to a haunted house.” His words were at odds with his eyes, clinical and calm against the swallowing intensity of his gaze, “it’s perfectly normal.”

“It was more than that,” she whispered, forcing herself to look away at last. Staring instead at her hands in her lap. Knuckles clenched white as the memories washed over her, making her shudder. Making her feel, “it was different.”

 

✵✵✵

 

“Tell me,” Jonathan breathed, leaning forward on his elbows. Frustration and curiosity merged in his veins. This was unexpected, this was… interesting. “Many of your peers reported hallucinations, did you experience that too?”

She nodded, hair falling in her face as she worked her fingers together, still more embarrassed than afraid, “Yes.”

“What did you see?”

“I…” she hesitated, pale throat working. Her cheeks colored beneath her freckles, a perfect ink splatter across her nose. “dolls. China dolls.”

Pediophobia. _Fascinating_.

Clearing his throat he straightened up, remembering himself at last, he was a mildly interested college Professor with no vested interest in the situation. He should act like it. “And why do you think you saw these dolls?”

“My grandmother… she had a bunch of them in her guest room and whenever I stayed over she made me sleep in there. I… I was convinced if I closed my eyes they’d move… get me somehow,” she rubbed at her wrists, the corner of her lip twitching in a self deprecating little smile as she met his gaze again at last. He’d never seen eyes that colour before, so dark blue they were almost black. “Needless to say I didn’t get a lot of sleep there.”

Focusing his gaze he nodded understandingly, “And your grandmother never removed these dolls after she noticed your distress?”

“Nope,” she shook her head, swiping her hair back when it threatened to blind her completely, “she thought it ‘built character.’”

 _Pray_ _boy_ , the reedy voice whipped through his skull like a waking nightmare, lightning in a clear sky as a pinched faced old woman bore down on him, bible in hand, _pray_ _that_ _God_ _gives_ _you_ _a_ _spine_. _Gives_ _you_ _some_ _character_!  
His hands clenched as he shoved the memory down where it belonged. Deep in the depths where it couldn’t touch him anymore. This wasn’t about him.

This was about her.

Katrina’s fingers toyed with the hems of her sleeves, her eyes distant as if she too was seeing something she didn’t want to share. The nebulous echoes of childhood trauma no doubt.

“It’s strange though…” she admitted quietly after a moment passed, snapping him from his musings, “I hadn’t thought about those dolls in years. Even when I stayed there over the summer it wasn’t the same, they didn’t frighten me like that. But then for some reason last week… it was like feeling it for the very first time all over again.”

Something clicked into place for him with those words, the signs adding up at last. The distance in her gaze, the halting tone of her voice. Her idiosyncratic reaction to the low dose of fear toxin...

“Forgive me for asking, Ms Vassal,” he broached as delicately as he could even as his thoughts spiraled ahead, already picking apart the interaction as he removed his glasses to clean them, “but are you currently on any… medication?”

“Like drugs?” She blinked, hands falling into her lap again, “no nothing like that. Oh… well, apart from Somlasidan, but I’ve been on that for ages.”

Bingo.

A sedative like Somlasidan seemed wildly inappropriate for a woman barely beginning her twenties. After a couple of months on that it was no wonder she was so distant.

“Exactly how long have you been taking it?” He replaced his glasses, making a discreet note in her file.

“Oh seven or eight years.”

He blinked, head jerking up in shock.  
Well that was… unexpected. If it was inappropriate for a woman of twenty one it was practically unheard of to be prescribed to a child. Not unless she was seriously deranged.

The mystery of Katrina Vassal grew.  
At least he had an explanation for her reaction to his toxin. If she had been prescribed the drug for that long… well… it would have stopped her body from producing any sort of appropriate chemical stimulus a long time ago. It must have been like living in a fog, the fear toxin… it might well have been the first time she’d really _felt_ anything in almost a decade.

The question remained however, how did a perfectly average young woman end up on a drug like that in the first place?

“Forgive me but that’s a little surprising, how much were you prescribed and by whom?”

“Forty milligrams, by my mother, she’s a physician,” The dazed look turned extra glassy, a shadow of confusion ghosting over her face at the questions, “she thought it was for the best.”

There was something there, a story that clawed at him, begging to be revealed. He needed it all, all the data, all the variables, something dark in the pit of his gut yawning as she blinked at him innocently. The other him rising to the surface.

He fought it down as best he could, frustration creeping beneath his skin even as he forced himself not to press the issue. Not to say too much too soon and reveal his real interest in her medical history.

“Thank you for your honesty, Miss Vassal,” He said instead, pasting on another smile he hoped looked vaguely reassuring as he rose to his feet, “I think that’s enough for today.”

“That’s it?” She startled, face flushing again as she followed him dazedly to the door, “I mean…”

He laughed, a quiet little chuckle to cover the darkness he could still feel clawing at his bones. Begging to get out now.

“That’s it, you seem to be coping remarkably well with what happened, of course though, if…” he hesitated, making sure he had her full attention as they paused at the open door. Trying to pull anything he could out of her dark blue eyes in those last few seconds, “...you’d ever like to meet up again, to discuss anything at all, my door is always open.”

“Oh, of course,” she twisted the strap of her bag between her fingers, lip caught between her teeth before she gave him a small smile, “thank you, Professor Crane. I really appreciate it.”

He watched her leave, waiting until she was out of sight before he returned to his office. Clicking the door shut quietly behind him he braced himself against it, shuddering as the darkness rose to meet him. The shadows stretched beneath his skin, flexing his fingers with a guilty thrill as he stalked back to his desk. Pulling his formulas out of their locked drawer, he lined them up with his notes on Katrina.

This had happened for a reason, he realised that now, she’d been asleep for so long and the fear… it had _awoken_ her.  
That gave him a responsibility to her. To the terror.

Without knowing it, Katrina Vassal had just become his new project.

 

 


	3. Testophobia

 

 

 

Jonathan Crane had an obsessive personality, there were no two ways about it. Some might have seen it as a flaw but he knew it for what it really was, a _gift_. The fuel for his genius, his creations, even if it did mean he sometimes struggled to balance his work and life priorities.

Or forget to eat for three days.

He hadn’t had a chance to speak to Miss Vassal again after their meeting but that hadn’t stopped him from setting himself to work on her case. He’d dug out every piece of information he could about her from the student database.

Third year student Katrina Phoebe Vassal, twenty one year old English Literature major. Originally from New England, she lived off campus and maintained, if not flawless, then at least above average grades. There were no demerits against her name, or inappropriate absences, just one library fine that had been paid off in her first year.

She was for all intents and purposes utterly unremarkable, the poster child of average. Perhaps that’s what made her reactions so intriguing, the thirst for knowledge pulling him under as he formulated his next experiment. He knew he had to see it for himself, had to dose her again and catalogue her reaction first hand.

It was a scientific imperative.

The other side of him was less methodical, it just wanted the fear. A black mess of rage and curiosity forming at the memory her still, wavering figure as she walked through her life like she was in a dream. It wanted to see that doll-pretty face twisted in emotion, fire and fear in her dark eyes. It wanted a reaction.

It _wanted_.

Crane pushed it back again and again, focusing on mixing the exact right formula for his needs. His hair fell in front of his eyes, he’d skipped too many haircuts again. But really, who had the time? There was work to be done.  
Grabbing a rubber band from the clutter on his desk he yanked it back, tying it away from his face with a growl as he sank himself into the equations. It was almost perfect, almost ready, now he just had to find a way to test it without her realizing.

The next phase of his project was about to begin, he just had to wait for their Thursday class.

And eat. That would be a good idea.

 

✵✵✵

 

The meeting shadowed Katrina, a strange little echo at the edges of her thoughts as life resumed.

She hadn’t meant to say as much as she had, to drag up long buried memories and ramble on about them. She bit her tongue at the thought, it was _his_ fault.

There was something about Professor Crane’s expression, an intensity to it that had her talking when she didn’t mean to.  
She still didn’t think he liked her much, but he seemed to understand and honestly that was better. He hadn’t thought she was crazy or psychopathic. Or worse.

If Jenn noticed her preoccupation with their Psychology Professor however she didn’t say anything, she was still busy partying too hard. At least she didn’t force Katrina to go along with her anymore, something she was somehow glad and saddened by at the same time.  
She should have welcomed the space, it gave her more time to herself. To study, to read, to chase other people's emotions through ink and paper. It had always been enough for her before.

But now…  
Sighing she forced the thought from her mind, she was in class. There was a test. And the fact she couldn’t keep her gaze from travelling back to her strange Professor every three seconds was bordering on ridiculous.

“Take one and hand them along,” Professor Crane announced, walking up and down the rows of desks and handing out stacks of papers. He looked more tired than she remembered, heavy circles under his eyes as he dealt test papers out to disappointed students. “Here.”

She startled as he reached her row, a faint flush of heat in her cheeks as he handed her a wad of paper. His fingers were icy cold where they met hers, she’d been staring again. She promised herself she’d stop doing that.

“And these ones,” she took the second stack he offered with a little more grace than the first, her heart jumping as he accidentally knocked her drink from the corner of her desk. “My apologies.”

He was bending to retrieve it before she could move, tall frame bent in two as he fumbled for the plastic bottle before placing it back on the corner of her desk. Thank God she always screwed the lid on before she put it down, that could have been so much worse.

Amber eyes met hers, sucking the air from her lungs. There was something unmistakable about them alright, even someone as emotionally stunted as she was could see it. It simmered beneath the calm, a rolling boil of knowledge and power and something that might have been anger, might have been hope. She caught herself on the edge of them, opening her mouth to thank him but he was already gone, moving on to the next row and leaving her almost… bereft somehow. Off balance even as Jenn elbowed her sharply in the ribs. Gesturing with raised eyebrows to the test papers Katrina was still clutching.  
Right, the exam.

Handing them over she settled back in her seat, twisting the cap off her iced tea and trying to steady her usually placid nerves. The peachy flavor seemed sweeter than usual, leaving her licking her lips as the Professor barked out instructions and set them loose on their first real test.

She could do this.

 

✵✵✵

 

It had been easy, almost too easy, he’d switched her bottle with the one he’d doctored in one uncharacteristically smooth motion as he made a show of handing out the papers.

He’d been so certain he’d be caught, breath catching in his chest as she picked up his gift. There was no guarantee she would drink it after all, not soon enough for him to witness the reaction at any rate, the compound twisted and formulated just for her. A slow release dose of terror that should set in just as the class was ending. If not he’d have to go further, find some reason to keep her back, his mind already racing ahead with the possibilities as she toyed with the lid.  
But then… then she popped it open and drank.

Adrenaline thrummed in his veins, every nerve alight, ready, as the experiment began. It was a glorious feeling, power dancing under his skin as the darkness within him surfaced. Merging and mangling, turning him into something better than he usually was.

Something _alive_.

He ran his tongue across dry lips as he called the class to order. Struggling to keep his outward appearance impassive as he reeled off the instructions and set them to their task.

Time crawled as he settled back at his desk, making a concentrated effort to hold his calm as the room filled with the steady hush of pencils scratching and forlorn groans. Making sure to sweep his gaze back and forth over the assembled mass at regular intervals, he couldn’t be too obvious. Couldn’t stare.

No matter how much he might want too.

Her sigh travelled across the room, the soft huff rubbing against his spine like velvet as he watched her from the corner of his eye. Coral lips parting like petals as her brow scrunched and she flipped the page.

Patience. Patience was what he needed. He folded his hands together, white knuckles clicking together like bones as he mastered his breathing. This, like everything in his life, would be done under his control.

 

✵✵✵

 

Someone had left the window at the end of the row open, the air washing cold across the back of her neck as she scribbled down her answers as best she could.

Fight or flight. Exposure therapy. Exposure…

The shiver caught, an icy scratching at her skin. Her eyes darted back and forth across the page, struggling to take in the words. She felt like she’d swallowed an ice block, the cold weight dragging her down as her breath caught in her lungs.  
She didn’t get nervous at tests. She didn’t get nervous about anything. But… but…

A sick swirl of excitement blossomed between her ribs as her foot jumped beneath the desk, pencil tapping a frantic beat as it sank in. She knew this feeling, intimately, had been trying to pull it back to her since that night and now… now…

Be careful what you wish for.

The lights were too bright, colors snapping harshly against her retinas. Making her wince even as she drank them in, corpse white paper veined with her scrawl, yellowed pencils shavings curling across the desk like overgrown fingernails.

Disgusting things that made her shudder, made her want more. But not here. Not now. Not with the Professor still watching them, Jenn frantically scribbling away next to her as a couple dozen students crowded the edges of her vision. Like vultures. Their eyes were heavy on her even though she knew they weren’t looking at all.

Judging. Waiting. Wanting her to panic so they could laugh, mock.

 _Ratty_ _Katty_ , _Tatty_ _Trina_.

The echo of their voices scratched at her ears, something sticky and solid beginning to tug at her hair. She raked a hand through it carefully, trying not to draw attention as she sifted the strands through her fingers.

Gum. Great globs of the stuff weighing her head down, hideous pink and slick with spittle in the afternoon sun.

The fear tightened her throat, mouth drying to dust as she fought not to gasp. Not to make a scene.

It wasn’t real. It wasn’t. Like at the party. It was an illusion.

The gum wasn’t there, not this time. Her hands twitched as she fought the urge to tug at her scalp, to snatch up the nearest pair of scissors and cut it all out and free herself. It wasn’t any more real than the… _no_.

No, focus.

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, regulating her breathing as stars burst behind her eyelids. Adrenaline curled against her tongue, bittersweet and unfamiliar. She swallowed another mouthful of ice tea to wash it away.  
It was nearly the end of class, she just had to get through this last page and then she was done. She could run to the nearest bathroom and fall apart in peace, could scream and cry and revel in the unbearable tightness of her ribs. The pulsing in her veins, the sick thrill of feeling.

She could give in at last.

But first. Focus focus focus.

She felt detached, suddenly adrift in her own skin as she forced her eyes down to the final few questions. A list of phobias she had to translate.

Arachnophobia, easy, the fear of spiders.  
Coulrophobia, clowns.  
Cynophobia, dogs.  
Trypanophobia, needles.  
Pediophobia…

Her eyes widened, teeth clamping down so hard on her lip she tasted copper as she stared at the squiggle. Pediophobia, fear of…

Of...

Somewhere in the distance a clock chimed, the heavy sound richotting painfully down her spine as she squeezed her hands tight. Chairs scraped back, a porcelain screech, china limbs clacking as the shadows sang to her.

 _Ring_ _around_ _the_ _roses_ …

Jenn bumped her shoulder, the figures filling the room rising, twisting, a horror show of sing song voices and mockery as they crowded in around her. Too close.

Too close. Too real.

God save her it was _real_.

“Miss Vassal, if you have a moment could I have a word?”

Crane. Professor Crane. He flickered into the edges of her consciousness, smoke soaked and skeletal as she stared up at him.

“Yes,” she said on instinct, voice obscenely normal as she fought the urge to crawl under the desk, “of course Professor.”

Why had she said that? Why had she agreed when she should be getting out of here? Why were his eyes looking at her like that, digging in hungrily even as the amber ran down his face in rivulets. A slow crawl of sap. She could see the beetles trapped inside it struggling for life as it rolled from his cheekbones.

Her breath caught as their iridescent shells were swallowed by the honey tide. It was such a beautiful death.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~TBC~ if you enjoyed the chapter please consider leaving a comment, they mean the world to me! :-)


	4. Amaxophobia

He couldn’t stop his heart from racing, eyes fixed on her as the lecture hall emptied around them. Katrina rose unsteadily, her supposed friend pushing past her without a second glance as he caught her attention.

“Are you quite alright?” Jonathan asked as the door shut behind the last of them, licking his lips to taste the lies as he put on the mask he needed, that of ignorance. _Concern_. “You seem a little… on edge.”

There was only a thin ring of blue left in her eyes, her pupils eclipsing them as she gazed up at him. Hair like burnished gold spilling around her face in disarray as she clutched her bag to her chest in a white knuckle grasp.

“It’s happening again.” She said quietly, blinking like she hadn’t meant for the words to come out, “like before, the party, it’s…”

The words caught in her throat, chest flushed and heaving as she struggled for breath. Beautiful. The fear made her almost beautiful, an intensity burning beneath her skin he couldn’t look away from as her gaze darted back around the room. Seeing things he couldn’t.

“Tell me,” he caught himself on the edge of impropriety, snatching back his composure as he led her down towards the desk, “tell me what you’re experiencing. So I can help.”

Help free her, push her through her fears and into the bright lights of reality. If she survived of course.

She was still looking at him, head tilted in morbid fascination as a shaking hand reached up towards his face.

“Your eyes…” she murmured, “the insects are all dying.” Her brow furrowed and suddenly her hand was on his chest, rubbing at an invisible stain, “it’s getting on your shirt.”

“What is?” He caught her hand, pulling it away gently even as his heart stuttered, bouncing off his ribs at the peach soft skin brushing his. Making him cringe and yearn in equal parts.

“The amber,” she said, as if it was obvious, rubbing her fingers together as if they too were now coated in it, “are you going to drown me too?”

“I…” he swallowed hard around the wedge in his throat, they were lab rats. All of them. And his experiments came with no guarantees, that was the price of progress. So why did he hesitate? “I hadn’t planned too.”

No, no she was too interesting to die. Scientifically speaking.

He slipped his free hand around her wrist, her pulse rushing like a machine beneath his fingers. He should make a note of it. Heart rate, respiratory reaction… he should...

“What are you feeling, Katrina? Please, describe it for me.”  
Her name fell out on instinct, a familiarity he knew he shouldn’t allow himself with her. Not face to face like this. He couldn’t help himself, not when he was already fighting the urge to demand the answers from her, wanting to rip the words out in screams. In sighs. He wanted to lean back and let her fear, her exhilaration wash over him in waves.

“It’s terrifying,” she whispered, gaze flickering up again. Her eyes were voids, threatening to swallow him whole as a strange wonder danced across her expression, “absolutely terrifying.”

Something stirred inside him, something primal and violent and wanting.

BANG.

The wind slammed the open window shut with a violent clatter and she screamed, her bag falling to the floor as she clutched at his shirt. Her small hands fisted tight in the fabric as she pressed herself into his side.

“They’re here,” she whispered, the warm pant of her breath catching him off guard as she tugged at him, “they’re here... no... no no they’ll ruin it all…”

“How Katrina?” He had to know. “How will they ruin it?”

“If they touch me it will end,” she flinched violently, eyes strafing across the shadows, “if they touch me I won’t feel it anymore. Any of it. Please, please don’t let them-“

His resolve wavered, eyes darting over her features as she gazed up at him. She was horrified, scared of the idea that she wouldn’t be scared anymore. It twisted in his head, his chest, suddenly making him want to reassure her somehow that whoever they were they wouldn’t, couldn’t, take the fear away.

“It’s going to be okay,” he heard himself say, fingers bracing against her spine. When had he done that? Touched her like that? It didn’t matter, “Just breathe Katrina, breathe.”

 

✵✵✵

 

The words whispered through her.

 _Breathe_.

She shuddered, the dolls crawling at the edge of her vision stuttering and freezing as she sucked in lungfuls of air. Holding herself tight to the warmth at her side as the fear flickered through her.

 _Breathe_.

Her heartbeat was slowing, reality creeping back in like the tide. Inevitable as it washed through her, threatening to sweep her away. The dolls weren’t real, they wouldn’t touch her, they wouldn’t turn her into one of them. She was safe.

And… and...

 _What_ _the_ _hell_ _was_ _she_ _doing_?

Her senses came back to her with the feeling of skin-warmed cotton crumpled under her hands. His fingers were pressed to her back, holding her in place as she looked up and up and up and…

Oh God. Professor Crane. She remembered now, the panic during the exam, the overwhelming feelings that had swept her reason away, the fact she was now…

“I’m so sorry,” she released him all at once, face on fire as the mortification set in, “I… I don’t know what happened… I…”

“It’s quite alright,” his voice rattled through her, a bass note along her spine as he cleared his throat. His hand slipped away from her. Was it absurd she missed the warmth? “It seems like you’re still experiencing the after effects of the Sigma House incident, it’s not at all uncommon. Is this the first time it’s happened since then?”

Sensible words. Calming words.

“I… yes.” She felt like she was on a delay again, held underwater as she struggled to make sense of what had happened. Of the shivers still running through her bones, her breathing a stuttering mess as she tried to hold herself together.

Everything was too bright, too much. Each thump of her heart bruising sweetly against her insides as she wrapped her arms self consciously around her waist. Still half convinced the dolls would appear again for her.

She could still hear their sing song voices if she tried hard enough. Just there at the edge of her…

“I think I better give you a ride home,” his brow furrowed, after images of the beetle-filled amber flickering across her vision as her gaze shot back to him, “Make sure you get back safe.”

She didn’t think to question him, perfectly content to stumble along in his wake when he picked up her bag. Gnawing at her lip nervously as the colors buzzed around her, his no-nonsense presence the only thing anchoring her. Solid. Real. A strange unconscious game of follow the leader.

It was unbelievably embarrassing. Her face stung, heat pounding in her cheeks so hard she was certain she’d bust a blood vessel as she remembered her behavior. She flexed her hands, the ghost of his warmth still imprinted against her palms. The curve of his ribs against her wrists, his fingers against her spine.

“Here-“ he was holding open the passenger side door of a beaten up car for her. Burnt umber colored and boxy looking, she couldn’t have named the make for all the tea in China. Her tea, she’d left it on her desk… never mind. Not important.

When had they gotten to the parking lot?

She swallowed around the lump in her throat, ducking into the car with a murmured noise of thanks and clipping her seatbelt on. Trying even now to keep her focus. The dashboard was covered in paper, empty cups overflowing the divide and kicking around her feet.  
It smelt like coffee and printer toner, strangely comforting after the sickly bubblegum scent that had been following her earlier.

It hadn’t been real. None of it had.

Not even the heavy lumps she could still feel tangling her hair if she hesitated now. Nope. She inhaled deeply, the interior of the car shrinking as the Professor folded himself in next to her. There was just so much of him, limbs on top of limbs as the engine rumbled to life.

“Where to, Miss Vassal?” He was formal again, that southern lilt coming back on the miss as he handed over her satchel. It made her want to ask where he was from, why he’d moved here.

“Magnolia Drive,” she said to the dashboard instead, embarrassment crystallizing as he pulled out, “near Reddings Park.”

She was a liability. An emotional wreck.

She wanted to laugh with joy at the thought, her feelings cresting and crashing and overwhelming her even as the gray began to creep in again at the edges. The perverse stillness of ordinary life. She hadn’t been an emotional _anything_ in so long.

“I know the area.” He nodded as the car rumbled to life, pulling out into the world. “Do you live with anyone? It would be best if you had someone to keep an eye on you tonight.”

She wanted the seat to swallow her whole, not certain why her heart had jumped like a trained pony when he’d asked her. Like he cared, like he was wondering if she had a boyfriend waiting or…  
 _Idiot_. She’d made enough of a fool of herself for one day, he had been so kind, something softer in his features now, mouth still drawn tight but his eyes… they seemed so understanding.

“My roommate Jenn should be in tonight,” she wished her voice didn’t waver quite so much, it sounded too breathy even to her own ears. Too affected. Clearing her throat she tried again, “it’s a left up here.”

She had to seem calm, composed. Had to convince him she wasn’t entirely a freak or he’d never respect her. Never like her.

And for some weird reason she _wanted_ him to like her, wanted him to see her as something more than just that one inconvenient crazy girl in his Thursday class. What was wrong with her? She’d never much cared what anyone thought about her, falling into friendships and relationships almost by accident. But for some reason…

Well, Professor Crane’s opinion of her seemed to actually matter now and she was sure she’d already put her foot in it with her hysterics in the classroom. The hysterics and the inappropriate touching.

She groaned, rubbing at her forehead as the memories threatened to swallow her whole.

“Are you alright?” His head whipped around, worried gaze on her in an instant even as she held back another noise of embarrassment. So awkward. So so awkward.

“Just a bit of a headache,” she covered weakly. It was true after all, her head was pounding. She swallowed around a dry mouth as the street outside the window came into sudden sharp focus, “anywhere here is good.”

The car drew slowly to a halt, engine idling as she fumbled to unlatch her seatbelt. To think of something, anything remotely intelligent to say with her head still reeling like a drunk on a merry go round.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” He asked, almost gently this time. A deep note of concern in his voice as a line formed between his brows.

She had the strangest urge to laugh, or cry. Maybe both. She’d never been less alright in her life and she wouldn’t give it up for anything.

Her feelings were a mess, fear, horror, embarrassment. And beneath it all a strange kernel of heat in the pit of her stomach, something uncomfortable but oddly sweet as it burnt away underneath the rest.

“I’ll be fine,” she replied, smiling awkwardly as she reached for the door handle and hesitated, “I… thank you. For the ride, and... before. You didn’t have too, I really appreciate it.”  
She meant it, the words warming up the insides of her ribs as she avoided his eyes. Trying not to let just how appreciative she was show unless it lower his impression of her even further.

“Think nothing of it,” he smiled, the hint of a dimple forming at the edge of his hollow cheeks, “but I think perhaps it might be best to arrange a time to talk again, if you’re comfortable with that of course. When you’re ready.”

“Sure,” she nodded, throat working as the door clicked open under her hand, “okay. That would be good. I- thanks again.”

She struggled clumsily up out of the car, another handful of polite nothings spilling out as she shut the door behind her. Giving a stupid little wave as the car, and the Professor, drove away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~TBC~ if you enjoyed the chapter please consider leaving a comment! Even the smallest comment means the world to me!


	5. Allodoxoaphobia

In a world of awkwardness, Katrina was the irrefutable queen.

It had been a week since the incident in the psychology classroom but it might as well have been an hour, the interaction dancing behind her eyelids every time she lost her focus.  
Which was a lot.

Even now she was remembering the way her heart had shuddered in her chest, beating so fast it became a hum against her ribs as she’d stared at the amber leaking from Professor Crane’s eyes. So so fast. She couldn’t understand it, pressing her fingers against her breastbone and feeling nothing but the usual lumbering thud beneath.

“And then he asked me out, can you even imagine it?”

Oh right, reality, she was still sitting with Jenn in the crowded cafeteria waiting for their next class. Jenn looked expectantly over the top of her compact, lipstick in hand as Katrina struggled back into the moment.

“I’m sure I can’t imagine it,” Katrina replied honestly after a too-long pause, she’d long since forgotten who Jenn was talking about. She wasn’t even sure she’d said in the first place, too busy picking at her fries and trying not to freak out about the Classroom Incident to care.

“Hey I never asked you what creepy Crane wanted after class last week, he’s so weird right?”

“What?” Kat shot upright in her seat at the sudden switch in conversation, chest heating in embarrassment. Oh God, had she said something out loud? Was Jenn secretly telepathic?

Jenn only rolled her eyes.

“Creepy Crane! Was it about the exam? Ugh I’m pretty sure I flunked that last section. Like claurophobia or whatever, who cares? The guy’s preoccupied.”

“He’s not creepy,” she said automatically, stomach knotting at her friend’s words as she pushed the last of her lunch away. She was back in the present at last and wishing she wasn’t, “It’s his job, he’s supposed to test us on that stuff.”

“Jeez calm down Kat,” Jenn scoffed, “I didn’t mean to offend your boyfriend.”

Oh no. Kat blushed. Something in Jenn’s eyes turned sharp, a predatory snap as Katrina tried to cover it up.

“I was just saying.” She said, looking away determinedly even as her fingers clenched tight around the strap of her bag. “No big deal.”

“Suuuuure.” The calculating look in her friends eyes lingered and then passed, subsumed by her desire to talk about herself, “Anyway, I was talking to coach about the Cheer trip this week-”

Katrina exhaled as Jenn launched back into her monologue, suddenly shivering despite the sticky heat of the canteen. Wrapping her arms tightly around herself she settled back into her thoughts.  
She hadn’t meant anything by defending him, really she hadn’t. Only… only it was unfair of Jenn to call him ‘creepy’ when she didn’t know him at all.

Worse than unfair, it was cruel.

 

✵✵✵

 

A week had passed in relative calm since his last experiment, plenty of time to record his findings and spin out his hypothesis, already devising future plans.

Future plans that would require more than good luck and perfect timing. He couldn’t dose her every time she came to class after all, that would be too obvious. Besides, he would never gain the first hand information only she could give him about the experience that way.

No, what he needed before he could go any further was Katrina Vassal’s trust.

He watched her sharply as the class was dismissed, mind whirring with ideas on the best way to sidle his way into her acquaintance and gain full control over the grand experiment she presented. He had to get her alone, convince her of his benign interest, and, of course, to abandon her current medication.

The first step for all of this was simple, he would have to talk to her.

Adjusting his collar he steeled himself, it was ridiculous to be nervous. He was talking to a student, not a shark. Even if he could vividly remember the feel of her warmth pressed into his side, the way her lips parted when she looked up at him in fear and... wonder.

Simple, _right_.

He was halfway to her desk, his target lingering whilst the others fled, when someone called out to her, making him freeze in his tracks.

“Katy Kat!” There was a brute in the doorway, barging into the lecture hall as the students ran out the other way. Jonathan bit back a snarl at the interruption, watching from his spot as Katrina froze by the edge of her desk, eyes squeezed tight for a short moment before she faced the man.

“Caleb, what are you doing here?” She asked with a tight smile.

  
Friend? Brother? _Boyfriend_?

“I was passing by and remembered you had Intro here,” he grinned with chipped teeth, possessing all the muscle bound clumsiness of a drugged ape, “I figured I’d be a gent and walk you home since Jenn’s out cheering for the team.”

“That’s…” he saw her mouth thin, “very thoughtful of you but I actually…” she looked around, a dull desperation in her eyes as they landed on his, “actually have an appointment with Professor Crane today.”

Oh did she now?

“I can wait,” the boy didn’t take the hint and Jonathan saw frustration rise in Katrina’s eyes. It was the most intense expression he’d seen from her yet, outside of their... work of course.

“That’s unnecessary,” Crane stepped forward at last, unable to keep his eyes from narrowing in distaste at the hulking idiot as he strode across the classroom to Katrina’s side, “it may take some time. If you’d be so kind as to close the door on your way out.”

“Oh, alright then,” the boy deflated like a balloon, turning with a despondent look as he trailed towards the door, “laters Kat.”

They stood in silence until the door shut, Katrina whirling in a rush to look up at him as it clicked close. Face coloring with something - relief or embarrassment, he couldn’t tell.

“Thank you Professor,” she spilled out hurriedly, “I didn’t mean to-”

“Think nothing of it, Miss Vassal,” he nodded, “it seems your… friend isn’t too good at taking a hint though.” 

The colour in her face grew, freckles standing out like stars in reverse against it.

“Friend of a friend,” she corrected. He wasn’t sure why that little fact appeased him, but it did. “Caleb means well but he can be a little… obtuse. I’m just sorry I got you caught up in it.”

“Not at all, I was actually hoping to speak to you.”  
And this gave him the perfect excuse, maybe he should thank the brute.

“Really?” The note of surprise in her voice caught him off guard, for a moment he almost imagined it was excitement.

A teasing scent plucked at him as she took a half step closer, the same one that had lingered in his car for far too long, a whisper of black cherries and something almost incense like. Lush and feminine and just a little bit dark. Her perfume.

He banished the thoughts, he was projecting his own academic enthusiasm onto her as something else entirely. Something foolish.

“Yes, I wondered if you might have time to follow up about our last… meeting,” he cleared his throat stiffly, gesturing to the desk she’d just vacated as he settled his thoughts, “if you don’t mind of course?”

“Oh… sure,” she nodded, seating herself carefully, her bag placed in front of her as she smiled at him, “I meant to bring that up, really, and well, now I have to stagger my leaving time anyway.”

“Well then,” he regretted his choice of seat the moment he took it, turning the chair in front of hers to face her and wincing as his knees knocked against the underside of the desk. He’d forgotten how small they made them. Ignoring his discomfort he soldiered on, “Miss Vassal-”

“Katrina,” she said quickly, gaze darting away as she fiddled with the strap of her bag, “you can call me Katrina… if that’s okay.”

“Jonathan,” he held his hand out to her, noticing the way her eyes widened in surprise as she took it.

“Oh - I thought perhaps…”

“It would be Ichabod?” He raised an eyebrow at her, her hand small in his. He fought the urge to clench too tightly as his nerves stung at the legacy of that particular moniker, “fortunately not.”

 _Ichabod_ _Crane_! _Ran_ _away_!  
 _What_ _a_ _coward_ , _Ichabod_ _Crane_!

The childish chant burnt in his ears, each word a granule of broken glass beneath his skin even as he shut it out. He kept his breathing perfectly even as it echoed and faded.

“Your parents were obviously kinder than mine,” she said with an awkward laugh, making him realise he still hadn’t let her go. Her palm soft and warm in his. He dropped her hand quickly, adjusting his tie instead. It suddenly felt far too tight. “My middle name was almost ‘Van’, the problem with having an English teacher for a father.”

“What did they choose instead?” He asked despite the fact he already knew, still struggling to centre himself.

It was at times like this he wished he could instantly transform into the other him, the part he kept locked up during the day. He never stuttered or stammered during regular conversations. Then again, he preferred speaking with fear and violence so perhaps not.

“Phoebe.” She shrugged, “not that that’s much better. Sorry, I’m _diverting_ I’m sure,” her lips twitched, a call back to the lesson he’d been teaching that day, “what did you want to talk about?”

“Oh of course,” the opportunity flashed bright in front of him, his pulse evening as he took up the reigns once more. “I did some follow up research after our last… meeting and wanted to speak to you again about your use of Somlasidan. I honestly think you should speak to a psychiatrist about whether it’s the best choice for you at the moment. Parents… well, they’re not always the best doctors.”

He held his breath, holding her gaze steadily as he willed the words into her.

“Oh,” she nodded, lips parting in surprise, coral pink against her pallor as they twitched up at the corners, “That sounds reasonable. Although I don’t suppose you happen to know any psychiatrists who don’t require payment, do you?”

“Well I am licensed,” he smiled, the sharp sting of victory bursting in his veins even as he fought to keep it off his face, he couldn’t scare her away, not now, not _yet_ , “an informal chat now and then wouldn’t hurt.”

“Thank you,” she breathed, her smile widening with the shadow of relief, “My student loans are already… well yeah. And besides, I’m not very good at talking to strangers.”

He wondered how ironic it was that she didn’t find him strange. He knew very well the reputation he had with the undergraduates.

Creepy Crane. That’s what they called him. Professor Death.

“I thought we could start by talking about how you ended up being prescribed Somlasidan in the first place,” he shook his thoughts off, folding his hands in front of him in a concentrated effort to seem more understanding, inviting even. Something his looming frame and boney physique made almost impossible, “it might help me to understand your situation better, do you have a history of bipolar disorder perhaps?”

This would be the key to everything, his heart thumped as he waited for her reply. A heavy tattoo that grew with each passing second even as her gaze clouded with confusion.

“No, nothing like that,” she said, thick lashes blinking twice as she looked up at him, “my mother thought I had problems reacting to things appropriately after… well there was an incident when I was a child.”

“Please,” he swallowed hard, trying not to seem too eager, “go on. Everything you say here is completely confidential, I promise you.”

 

✵✵✵

 

She’d never told anyone this story before, not since it happened. But he’d said it was confidential, and well… after having a fit of terrors in his arms what did she have left to be embarrassed about?  
Chances were he already thought she was a fruit loop, might as well be truthful about it. Shrugging her concerns off she started at the beginning.

“I used to have really long hair, ridiculously long really, and I could never stop it from tangling,” She could almost feel the weight of it again, dragging at her scalp as she fumbled for the right words to use, “And kids, being kids, used to tease me about it, that and other things, my awkwardness, my old fashioned clothes. They called me Ratty Katty.”

She was certain it had been awful, heart breaking, but she could barely remember it now. It had become a wraith. Some huge toothy beast swimming just beneath the surface of her feelings, always there but never quite striking.

Anyway, where was she?

Oh right, Freddy.

“There was this one kid who sat behind me who took it further though. He chewed gum all the time and took to sticking it to the ends of my hair so I’d have to cut it out.” She hunched her shoulders without thinking, the bubblegum sweet smell twisting in her stomach, “I tried to ignore it, like they told me too, tried not to let it bother me but then one day… I don’t know why, maybe he was sick of not getting a reaction, but he decided to stick a huge wad right in the back of my head. Tangled it all up so nothing could shift it. My mother cried when they cut my hair off…”

“But you didn’t?” His voice cut into the fog, deep and grounding as she remembered her audience. Looking up she found something almost understanding in his eyes, something that made it easier as she nodded her head.

“No I…” she felt her face flushing, ducking her head again as she remembered the rest. She’d been furious, truly unbearably furious until she thought she’d burn up from it from within. Until she knew she had to do something about it. “I was too angry. Too tired of crying I suppose.”

Sucking in a deep breath she let it out in a steady exhale, allowing herself to get to the worst of it. To trust Professor Crane, _Jonathan_ , with her sins. Well this particular one at least, it was the worst of them after all.

Worse than her little fire setting phase, tiny blazes she’d made when she wanted to feel warm. Petty shoplifting. The nightmares. Imperfect, childish things her mother had helped rid her of. Not with beatings of course, that wasn’t her mother’s way, but there were other ways to improve a child.  
An hour in an empty closet. Two. Days in her room without even her books for company. Weeks of silent treatment. The unexpected temper, the guilt and disappointment.

She remembered it all as if in a dream, things were expected of Doctor Irene Vassal’s daughter after all, perfection was expected. A paperback princess who knew her place and didn’t cause a fuss, one worthy of being moulded into her mother’s image.  
Until… well...

“I stole the packet of gum from his desk and took it home after class one day.” She drowned out her thoughts with the memory of it, playing like a movie behind her eyes, “My dad had this old hardware kit in the basement with this stuff in it, I don’t remember what it’s called, it was like a sort of putty cement that hardened when you mixed it with water?”

“I know what you mean,” he nodded and she swallowed around her suddenly dry throat. Fingers twisting together anxiously.

“Right. Anyway, I got this stuff and rolled it out real thin, cut it into strips, wrapped them up ever so carefully in the gums foil and put the packet back in his desk the next day. They… they had to use a drill to get his jaw open. He wore dentures after that but… well, he couldn’t chew gum anymore.”

She dropped her eyes to the scarred surface of the desk, waiting for his horror. His disapproval. A new slew of drugs waiting in the wings to take the edge off her unnatural temperament. Imperfect. Sick. _Wrong_.

“An understandable reaction.”

Her head shot up so fast her neck cracked, heart thumping strangely as she met his steady gaze.

“Really?”

“Of course,” he said with absolute sincerity, sending her pulse spiking even higher as he steepled his long fingers, “you took action against a vicious bully when the system put in place to protect you failed, it hardly seems to be a valid reason to keep you on intense mood-suppressant sedatives for eight years. Quite the contrary, it seems like you’ve been victim to a cruel and unusual punishment to me.”

“I…” she had the sudden urge to cry, so unfamiliar she almost didn’t recognise it. Heat pricked at the backs of her eyes as gratitude washed through her, “thank you, Prof-Jonathan.”

“Now I must advise you against stopping taking your medication all at once, instead we must gradually lower the dosage,” retrieving a scrap of paper and a pen from somewhere in his blazer he outlined a time table, “alternate daily between your current dose of forty milligrams and a half dose of twenty for the next week. After that alternate between twenty and ten for another week, and finally between ten one day and no dose the next for a final week. Understood?”

“Yes, thank you,” she ran her eyes over the notes before storing them carefully in her folder. His calm confidence soothing her worn nerves, making it impossible to doubt him as she nodded along.

“Now, do you think you could describe your usual range of feelings to me so we have a baseline to work from? What would you say their intensity was on a scale of one to ten?”

There was a question.

Pulling in a deep breath Katrina bit at her lip, weighing up the hazy fog of her days, “two maybe, three on a good day.”

It sounded pathetic when she said out aloud. Her general apathy thrown into sharp relief.

“And during the Sigma incident and its after effects?”

Her spine tingled, the memory of raw, unadulterated terror flushing through her and setting her heart racing all over again.

“Eleven,” she admitted, unable to keep the want from her voice. A desperation she’d felt every day since.

It had felt _good_ to feel. Even in the depths of her horror it had been electrifying, like finally being alive. She hadn’t realised exactly how dull her days were until she had something to compare them too.

“So, this two-to-three, how does it generally manifest itself?”

“Oh you know the usual,” she smiled wanly, “slight enjoyment, mild discomfort, a persistent fog of embarrassment at my own existence.”

Had she really just said that? _Great_ _job_ _Kat_! Just make things even weirder than they already were. What she wouldn’t give to be a goddamn normal human being.

But then he laughed, looking surprised at himself as he covered his mouth to hide the sound.

She couldn’t stop from smiling, beaming almost, chest lightening to a five at least. Jenn was wrong, there were no two ways about it. There was nothing creepy about Jonathan Crane.  
Quite the opposite in fact.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~TBC~ if you enjoyed the chapter please consider leaving a comment! <3 They mean the world to me!


	6. Angrophobia

Katrina wasn’t in her seat.

She hadn't missed class since term began, her attention growing ever more focused since their meeting three weeks earlier when she'd agreed to come off her medication. Eyes sharpening with every lecture.

But now... now she was nowhere to be seen.

He wasn’t sure why it unsettled him so much, eyes returning again and again to the empty place as he handed out worksheets to the unenthusiastic mess of students he had to corral. Her friend was there, snapping her gum as she groaned at the work given to her.

Jenn something.

 _Her_ grades were less than satisfactory, her last submission colorless and vague. Katrina though… well he’d begun to see a stark change in her writing, her work delving deeper into the psychological impact of fear with a passion that had been lacking from her earlier essays.

A passion that spoke to him.

But the question remained, _where_ _was_ _she_?

He wasn’t worried about her of course. No. It was his experiment that was in jeopardy, he had to know if she’d experienced any serious long term side effects after all. If her lack of medication had affected her reaction somehow.

“Is Miss Vassal not joining us today?” It was weakness to ask, even if he did quietly sneer the words with apparent disapproval.

“What?” The roommate’s head jerked up, “oh no, she’s like not well today or something.”

 _Illuminating_.

And still the worry lingered, questions gnawing away at his brain as he set to his work.  
Was it possible she’d been caught up in his last experiment?

He’d chosen the off campus Delta Pi freshman mixer for the very reason she would be unlikely to attend. There was no crossover, no common acquaintances as far as he could tell. Her next experience wasn’t scheduled for a few weeks yet, when he had a better baseline to compare it too.  
What if she had gone, though? What if she was affected because of it and he had no way of knowing how or why?

No, no he needed more data.

Grinding his teeth together he wrapped up the lecture in record time, scowling at the Professor who tried to engage him in conversation as he strode towards his office afterwards, heart notching uncomfortably fast in his chest. He had to understand the variables, perhaps a subtle phone call to check in… a drive by. Something. He was going so fast he almost didn’t recognise the bundle outside his office door for what it was, stumbling awkwardly to a halt in front of it.

Her.

She was hunched over, arms wrapped tight around her knees as she waited silently in the hallway. It wasn’t until she was looking up at him with panic stricken red-rimmed eyes that he realised where Katrina Vassal was.

“I’m sorry,” her voice was rough, thick in her throat as she struggled to her feet, pale hands shaking as she tried to smooth down her crumpled dress, “I didn’t know where else to… can we talk? Please?”

“Of course,” he unlocked the door, ushering her in as he swallowed around a suddenly dry throat. He hadn’t been expecting this. “What happened?”

The possibilities rushed through his mind like wildfire, unforeseen reactions to the adrenaline compound. The dopamine stimulator coming up against the Somlasidans chemical-dampening properties. Was it his formula? Should he-

“I… I don’t know,” her voice cut him off, slamming him back into the moment as she let herself be guided into the office. He shut the door behind them, barely able to restrain himself from whipping out a blood testing kit for a full toxicology report. He settled instead for pressing her into a chair and steadying his focus.

He needed facts, the science could wait until after.

“Katrina, I can’t help you unless you tell me what’s going on.”  
She wasn’t crying, not exactly, looking up at him in a mess of confusion and panic instead. A raw surge of desperation that had his heart thudding in his chest as she nodded her head.

“I… I don’t know what’s happening to me.” She admitted in a shaking voice, “Everything feels different. I thought I could handle it but then… but then my mom called last night and… I couldn’t.”

It was as he suspected wasn’t it? The meds had kept her caged, kept her mind wiped clean and sterile for so long and now… now she was beginning to feel again. He’d seen the evidence in her essays, her perfectly structured if passionless submissions giving way to something rawer.

Something far more interesting.

Her last outline suggesting that fear was the true psychological equaliser was down right fascinating.  
But he couldn’t think about it, not now, not with her psyche hanging on by a thread when he wasn’t yet ready to have it unravel completely.

“What are you feeling? Can you describe it to me?” He asked, placing a hand on her shoulder and feeling the shudder that ran through her. She turned her head up, looking at him with bottomless blue eyes.

“Fury.” She whispered, “ _hatred_.”

 

✵✵✵

 

It was as if a nest of hornets had laid dormant within her chest for eight long years, and now, suddenly, someone had kicked it.

Not just someone.

 _Her_ _mother_.

  
 _Katrina_ , _why_ _haven’t_ _you_ _filled_ _your_ _prescription_ _this_ _month_?

Of course she knew, of course the tentacles of Doctor Irene Vassal had wormed their way into every crevice of her life no matter how far from home Katrina travelled.

That’s when the first hornet had awoken. A faint sting at first, a gut-clenching wave of heat at the reminder that she wasn’t on the drugs any more. That maybe she never should have been in the first place.

That maybe her mother had robbed her of her feelings entirely.

She tried to stay calm, really she did, explaining the new approach. Telling her mother how positive she was feeling about the effects of it, the joy of truly experiencing things as the fog began to recede.

The calm didn’t last long.

 _What_ _are_ _you_ _thinking_ _Trina_? _You_ _need_ _it_! _You’re_ _not_ _right_ _without_ _it_ , _you_ _know_ _that_!

Bitterness coated her tongue at the memory of her mother's shrill voice, the hornets seething and writhing between her ribs still as the anger rose. The rage. Her mother had lied to her, was still lying to her. She treated her like a monster.

And Katrina had believed her. Believed her emotions, her outbursts, to have been so damaged, so _wrong_ that she had no choice but to take the drugs. That there was no other option, it was the only thing that could fix her. But she didn’t need fixing!

Sure she’d gotten revenge on a classmate but damn it, they were children. It’s what children did!

Why had she never been on Katrina’s side? Not ever, not once?

“My mother lied to me for eight years,” she hated the break in her voice, the way it shook loose like an earthquake from her throat. “She drugged me like a rabid animal. My emotions were inconvenient to her, less than perfect.” She met Jonathan’s eyes, seeking an understanding she couldn’t name as the bitterness threatened to overwhelm her, “there is no greater sin than that in my mother's eyes.”  
She had the strangest urge to laugh, she’d wanted to feel like this so much. To experience life. And now that she was she almost wanted to give it up again. The novelty of joy, the pang of nerves, the adrenaline rush of fear, they were all well and good. But this…

This made her feel sick.

“Parental betrayal, it’s disturbingly common,” Jonathan sighed deeply, fire playing behind the calm intensity of his gaze, “they can’t cope when their progeny doesn’t conform exactly to their ideals and seek to control them through any means. Violence, manipulation, medication. You are not alone in this Katrina, and trust me your rage is justified.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” she muttered before she could filter the words, eyes snapping wide as he froze. A statue where a man had been. Her rage ebbed at last, swallowed by a crushing swell of regret. “Sorry I was… that was inappropriate.”

His chest expanded and he came to life again, wheels turning like clockwork behind his gaze as a dozen expressions she couldn’t read passed over his features in the span of a heartbeat.

“It’s quite alright,” he said, voice pitched lower than she remembered hearing it, an anchor even now against the buzzing in her chest, “I did indeed have… an unfortunate childhood. My relationship with my… family was not what you might call ideal.”

So he did understand. She didn’t know why it helped so much but it did. God it did. She wasn’t alone. She wasn’t the only one.

“They betrayed you too?” She asked, not realising she’d placed her hand over his until she felt warm skin beneath her own. Heart stuttering at the unreadable expression in his eyes.

“In their own way,” he squeezed her hand once before releasing her, “acknowledgement is the first step to understanding and controlling your emotions Katrina. I think you’ve made a real break through today, and I’m glad you felt able to come to me about it.”

“Of course,” she swallowed hard. She hadn’t really thought about it, even when the rage and despair was threatening to eat her alive she hadn’t considered talking to Jenn. And who else was there? Marni from English lit? _Caleb_?

She didn’t really have friends, and the few that she did. Well, how could they possibly understand what she was going through? Not like him.

She shrugged her shoulders, “I trust you.”

 

✵✵✵

 

She trusted _him_.

Him.

It might have been funny if it wasn’t so disturbing.

Disturbing because it was exactly what he had wanted, to gain her trust and get better access to her. More accurate results and in-depth experiments. And yet now, hearing her say it, something in his stomach revolted.

It was different, even if he couldn’t quite tell why. Maybe… maybe because he’d seen something in her today he hadn’t been expecting.

An echo of himself.

A shadow of the wretched, rage filled teenager he’d long since forgotten.

Was it so very surprising? They were both victims of abuse after all, only his had been physical, spiritual, and hers had been medical, emotional.

They’d both been seen as wrong.

The devil child and the maniac. He was sin itself, while she was nothing but a broken mind. They hadn’t been the dolls their guardians had hoped for, the perfect story book children they’d imagined.

And they had both been punished for it. Trapped and controlled with beatings and pills until they’d lost all sight of themselves. Calcified shells of who they’d been, utterly at the mercy of their abusers. But even that couldn’t last forever.

Shells could be broken. Strength reclaimed.

Rage coiled in the pit of his stomach, a phantom switch taking the skin for his shoulders, sweat stinging the cuts with every bible verse spat at him. Saliva and blood and sweat. His every childhood memory.

His fists clenched, fighting the echoes down as best as he good. Picturing shadowed rooms and rusty syringes instead. The sticky heat against his spine as the doctor told him that his poor old grandmother had succumbed to a heart attack.

Cold relief. Smug satisfaction.

He’d outsmarted them all. He’d buried the witch. He’d freed himself.  
Perhaps it was time he helped Katrina do the same. She’d been a project before, a grand experiment.

Now… now he didn’t know what she was.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~TBC~ thank you so much for continuing to read this story! If you’re enjoying it please consider dropping a lil’ comment, I really do appreciate it!


	7. Masklophobia

Katrina was officially a cliche.

It was probably pathetic, her descent into yet another stereotypical undergrad mooning over her brilliant professor almost complete, but Katrina kept finding excuses to linger after her Thursday psych class anyway. She stayed under the guise of helping collect papers, or catching up with her essay work, her progress coming off the pills, anything to steal an extra half hour or two with him.

Yup. _Definitely_ pathetic.

Not that it stopped her from doing it, and well, Jonathan didn’t seem to mind. He was already waiting as the other students filed out, leaning against his desk as she made her way towards him, the very slightest tilt to the corner of his mouth.

She wasn’t sure why but it made something in her chest hurt when he smiled at her like that.

“Sweet tea?” He offered, he kept a pitcher in the mini fridge beneath his desk it turned out, the real good homemade stuff. Sugary and cold and reminiscent of long ago days of porch swings and polite nothings.

“Thanks,” she beamed, it was becoming a familiar ritual, one she never wanted to end, “I’d have thought the weather would have cooled down by now. It’s halfway through October already.”

“That’s Gotham for you,” he handed her the glass, another pang rushing between her ribs as their fingers touched, “unpredictable.”

She was too young for a heart attack surely? Could it be arrhythmia or something? That was the last thing she needed. And if it was why, did it feel so weirdly… _nice?_

“Did you hear there was another incident?” She said quickly to cover her awkwardness, the words falling out without much thought.

“Hmm?” He tilted his head, over long hair falling in front of his face. He kept most of it scraped back at the base of his neck but some of the strands had worked their way free. Auburn brown and soft looking…

“Another fear attack on Tuesday night, off campus,” she turned away, settling in her usual chair beside his desk as he took his seat too.

Jenn hadn’t wanted to talk about it, not since no-one they knew had been involved. It was a non-entity to her, besides, Jenn had said, their incident was way worse. The new one had only affected like five people.

“Apparently they were getting high in Ramsey Park when it happened,” she leaned forward conspiratorially, “they were found catatonic a few hours later.”

“It must have been quite the attack to knock them out like that,” he considered, long fingers steepling as he fixed his gaze on her.

“Perhaps, or perhaps they were just…” she trailed off, blushing when she realised she was about to call them weak. God what was wrong with her, how socially inept was she?

Jonathan didn’t dismiss her though, the intense curiosity in his gaze only doubling as he pinned her with a look, “go on.”

That was the difference between him and the others, he never shut her down like Jenn did or dismissed her ideas as silly. He didn’t act like her very presence was an annoyance. Jonathan listened when she spoke, questioned her, made her think. They could talk about anything and everything and… and she was blushing again.

If there was anyone who would understand her thoughts, it would be him.

“Well, it’s just, from what I’ve learned in this class fear is more than just… a thing to be avoided, or a warning even. It’s an opportunity,” She sketched the air with her hands, trying to paint a picture of feelings she couldn’t even fully articulate to herself, “these incidents are giving people a chance to uncover parts of themselves they couldn’t ordinarily acknowledge. The fact they curled up when faced with the reality of it… I don’t know, it just seems…”

“To display a stunning lack of character or personal strength?” He finished for her with that same wicked half smile that made her insides pop like a toaster.

“Honestly? Yes.” Relief warmed through her with the sweet burst of peach tea on her tongue. Even the thought of her brush with fear had her heart beating ever so slightly faster in her chest, a shadow thrill of terror itching along her spine as she put the glass down.

Anticipation. Nerves. Excitement.

The same dizzy undercurrent of feelings she always got when they met like this, an addictive rush of adrenaline that made her breath catch every time he looked at her.

Was it any wonder she kept coming back?

“Well I’m glad someone was paying attention in class at least,” he leant forward in his seat, fingers resting for just a heartbeat against the back of her hand, “if you ever decide to change majors Katrina you’d have my full support, you would be an asset to the field of psychology.”

Her skin sparked where he touched her, nerves on fire long after he’d drawn away. Her chest tightening at the understated pride in his voice, the way his accent popped just a little more when he was happy.

“I- thank you,” she fought to sound more collected then she felt, to not give away exactly how much his words had affected her. The air suddenly thick enough to choke on, static and close. Had they moved their chairs? She didn’t remember being this close to him before.

“Well it seems like the fraternities are taking their hazing seriously this year at least,” he sighed, attention moving past her and leaving her half glad, half bereft as she breathed easier at last, “it’s more ingenious than their usual tawdry stunts I have to say.”

“Do you still think it’s the upperclassmen then?” She chewed on her lip, getting her emotions back in check as best she could.

“Don’t you?” It was almost a dare, dark brows raising in a taunt. A tease.

“There’s a rumour,” her voice came out softer than she intended, a conspiratorial hush that had her leaning forward in her seat again, “that there’s someone else behind it. The Grim.”

“Grim?” He repeated in the same quiet tone, eyes flaring behind his glasses with an intensity she couldn’t look away from. A predator toying with his prey.

And now she was being ridiculous. She knew it even as her heart beat harder still, a painful thud in her chest as she nodded her head.

“Like the grim reaper? They say he appears during the incidents, a tall skeletal figure all dressed in black.”

“Did you see him?” The quick fire interest had her breath catching completely, the world around them seeming to vanish until they were alone in the void.  
But then reality returned to her, stomach dropping as she considered the question.

“No,” she shook her head, unable to keep the disappointment from her voice, “I didn’t. Maybe one day.”

If he did exist, if he was the one behind it all, she had a lot to thank him for after all. If it hadn’t been for the incident at the Sigma party she never would have realised how much she was missing out on. She never would have spoken to Jonathan or gotten off her meds.  
She might never have felt anything again at all.

 

✵✵✵

 

He was jealous of himself.

How perfectly ridiculous, he should have been better than that. Far too smart to mistake her interest as anything other than that of a lost soul looking for assistance in the new world she was finding herself in. A kindred spirit in search of understanding.

And _The_ _Grim_ it seemed.

The name followed him for the rest of the day, along with the wistful sigh of her voice. The heightened rush of her feelings dancing in her gaze, an open book to him. He was using tiny doses on her now, minuscule amounts in her tea to help her acclimatize to it. To build up her tolerance for the next stage of his plans.

Her next step to freedom.

The Grim, hmm. An archetype perhaps, but not the one he’d been aiming for. Perhaps it was time for an upgrade, the black mask he’d employed to conceal his identity wasn’t cutting it. After all, what use was testing the toxin if he didn’t give his subjects a focal point? Something to unite them in their fear.

He needed to become something dramatic, something terrifying. Something more than just another Halloween spook in a scream mask. A figure that would claw deep into the psyche of grown men and hurtle them back to their days as weeping children once more.

His own childhood had been filmed through a dirty yellow lens, broken glass memories of sticky heat and shouting rising inside of him. Childish taunts, less childish fists, the almighty voice of God casting him down through his grandmother time and time again for the sin of his birth.

Devil child.

Freak.

Bastard.

The only time he’d felt safe, he’d felt himself, had been the hours he’d spent alone in the corn fields. The whole world silent apart from the sound of his heart beating and the rustle of stalks swaying like the sea around him. No one around for miles apart from the rattling corpse of the scarecrow, a twisted reflection of his grandmother’s saviour crucified against the setting sun.  
A monument to the power of fear, really.

He shuddered, smelling the dry red soil of those days again, feeling the scrape of burlap against his skin.

 _The_ _Scarecrow_.

That’s who he would be.

And oh how he would scare.

A flyer caught his attention, bright orange against the dull walls as he headed for his car.  
Sigma House’s Annual Pre-lloween Beer’n’Fear Party.  
The flimsy paper crumpled in his hand as he tore it down, jaw aching with a sharp-edged smile. His debut called.

 

✵✵✵

 

Jenn appeared at her doorway on Saturday night, a puzzled frown on her face as she stepped inside without invitation.

“Why aren’t you dressed?” She asked, leaning over Katrina’s dresser to check her makeup.

Katrina hastily snapped her book shut and struggled to sit up from where she’d been lounging on her bed. She’d been reading The Phantom of the Opera. Again. Unwilling to examine just why the tale of a tragic genius stalking his prodigious student was suddenly so captivating to her.

Blinking down at her outfit she raised her eyebrows at her roommate, “I… am?”

Sure it wasn’t high fashion, just a pair of leggings and an oversized t-shirt but it was hardly like she was lying around naked. Not that Jenn could talk, her dress was so short it bordered on indecent, black poly-satin hiked up above fishnet stockings, a pair of cat ears serving as her head band.

Oh. _Oh_.

“Your costume, idiot!” Jenn laughed, stealing one of Katrina’s eyeliners from the side and drawing whiskers on with it, “it’s the Pre-lloween party at Sigma house tonight!”

A shudder ran through her, _Sigma_ _house_. She hadn’t been back there since… well, since it all started.

“I don’t have a costume.” She said dumbly, spine popping as she swung her legs off the edge of the bed. Her pulse picked up, even now she could taste the cheap beer and adrenaline.

“God Kat, you’re so useless sometimes,” Jenn sighed, “come on, I have like a hundred. Let’s find you something to wear.”

She could have resisted if she wanted too, she could have told Jenn where to shove it. But this time… well Kat didn’t want to. She still wasn’t fond of crowds or parties, and loud music did nothing for her, but Sigma house… that’s where it had all begun. The memory called out to her like a sirens song.  
That’s why she stood up and followed Jenn into her room, letting the other girl’s chatter wash over her as Jenn tore through her closet like a hurricane.

Kat had heard that Jeffers had transferred after the incident, affected by the terror more than the others. It seemed like his frat brothers were mourning his loss in the only way they knew how.  
A highly inappropriate party.

“Sexy clown girl?” Jenn snapped her back into the moment, forcing her to focus as she held up a checkered dress with a plunging neckline.

“I don’t think so.” She snorted, settling back to watch Jenn work.

“School girl?”

“Disturbing.”

“Sexy plant?” A green bodysuit was waved at her, Lycra sparkling under Jenn’s fairy lights.  
Katrina’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief, “Why do they even make that one?”

Jenn laughed and dug deeper, “fine fine, I have army girl, skeleton, doll, pirate…”

Katrina caught her breath, “what was that last one, not the pirate the one before.”

“Uh… doll,” the pirate costume was tossed aside in a froth of lace and another dress was held up. Purple gingham with oversized stitches printed here and there on it, a Peter Pan collar cut low in the front, puff sleeves and a frilly underskirt. Jenn gazed at it critically, “it’s not as sexy as the others but it could work. I think I have some stockings somewhere that match - here.”

Katrina caught the dress on instinct, the cheap fabric sliding through her fingers as she gazed at it. What was more suitable for Halloween, for that place, then dressing up as her worst nightmare?

Well, Jenn’s fetishized version of it at least.

“Come on,” Jenn snapped her out of her thoughts again, this time hurling a pack of striped stockings at her face, “put it on and I’ll do your hair and makeup for you. Chop chop, the party starts at eleven!”

Nodding Kat took the costume back to her room, feeling very much like she was playing with fire as she slipped into the dress.

Dressing up as her worst fear for a Halloween party held on the sight of the mass terror outbreak not two months before?

Jeez. What could possibly go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC! And as always, huge thank you to everyone still reading this far! If you’re enjoying it please do consider leaving a comment - they make me stupidly happy :-D


	8. Samhainophobia

“Woah cool costume dude.”

Crane bared his teeth beneath the mask, another drunken idiot stumbling past him as he wound his way into the heart of the party. No one looked twice at him here, another masked face in the sea of revelry.

No one realised the danger in their midst. The shark in the water.

He stalked through the crowds, excitement thrumming fast and hard in his veins as he began a silent countdown to the terror. It would be his biggest experiment since that first attempt on the Sigma house, it seemed fitting somehow that he’d be back now. That he’d see it all up close this time.  
He’d learned so much since that day, not to mention it’d been the reason he’d met her too. Katarina Vassal. His best experiment, his…

 _No_.

No time for that. He was here for fear and fear he would get. It was his first time unleashing the toxin in an airborne form in public, a vital step for the future of his research. He had to keep it scientific, structured, catalogue each reaction.

He let his gaze wander over the crowd, a smug sort of pity buzzing through him with the roar of his pulse. They had no idea. None of them. The toxin was already circulating, billowing out of the smoke machine the Sigma boys had conveniently found abandoned on their lawn. The smoke tinted yellow and sweet smelling as it crawled towards them.

Someone gasped, the sound singled out even amongst the din. Painfully familiar as he spun on his heel.

 _Her_.

She wasn’t supposed to be here. Not now. Not dressed like… like _that_. Everything vanished from his head as his gaze swept over her, lingering on the way her lilac dress barely scraped the top of her thighs, burnished hair tied in two thick bunches cascading over her shoulders. She’d come wrapped in her fears, china-doll cracks painted in makeup across the skin of her cheek, the curve of her breast…

He swallowed, dragging his gaze away with a growl. _Fate_. Fate was at it again, making a mockery of his plans.

Of course she was here. She had to be. Every trace of scientific interest vanished from him as he watched her pupils dilate. His breath caught as her mouth fell open, a perfect o of surprise that had darkness rushing to the surface, his wafer thin tether on it snapping.

Let loose the darkness roared, unleashing itself into his veins as he stalked towards her, the only victim worth watching. His perfect prey. Her every expression as open to him as his was hidden to her, locked away behind burlap and rope.

The Scarecrow had been released, made flesh at last, and it knew her fear would be the sweetest of them all.

 

✵✵✵

 

The moment the walls started moving she knew what was happening, her body already tensing. Head tilted back as the world turned around on itself, a heavy electric pulse pounding like a drum inside of her as reality changed.

Again.

Of course it was happening again, here.

 _You_ _wanted_ _it_ _too_ , _didn’t_ _you_? The quiet voice whispered inside of her, cut glass sharp and vicious, _that’s_ _why_ _you_ _went_ _out_ _of_ _your_ _way_ _tempting_ _fate_ _like_ _this_.

The party, the house, the dress.

She had wanted to relive those terrible, wonderful memories.

Be careful what you wish for.

The thought whispered through her in time to the music, chest tightening with each breath as her pulse rushed faster and faster. The others didn’t understand, weren’t expecting it, screaming and clawing and running from the terrors that began to materialise around them.

Katrina didn’t. Wouldn’t. It was useless.

The fear had arrived, sweeping over them like the sea. Those who didn’t float would drown.  
The smoke lapped at her like water, turning liquid at the thought as she stumbled away from the wall. Fingers curling as shock waves ran through her, it was icy cold against her skin, a depthless ocean threatening to swallow her as her gaze roamed the room.

Figures. Demons. Shadowed creatures wearing the skin of her classmates like new suits, twisted faces pulled back in mockery around her. Heathen and heaving as she stumbled into their midst.  
It felt different somehow this time, terrifying and invigorating in equal parts. It didn’t consume her like it had done before, now… now she welcomed it like an old friend as the adrenaline congealed in her veins. Why…

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Only the feeling. Her every sense was heightened, each twist of colour brighter, sound louder, and that smell… sticky sweet like iced tea with too much sugar. Half chewed bubblegum.

It burnt her lungs but she gasped it in anyway, turning slowly on the spot as she took in the dance. Swaying in time with the leering, burning shadows that roiled around her.

And there… hushed beneath the pounding music and screams, the voices sang.

 _Ring_ _around_ _the_ _roses_  
 _A_ _pocket_ _full_ _of_ _posies_ …

She thought she was ready, she thought… but no. No she didn’t want that. Them. She’d take the rest willingly, the demons, the mocking, the drowning black ocean. Just not them.

Her eyes scanned the floor, flashes of porcelain faces appearing in the strobe of the lights as she backed away, they’d ruin it all. They’d ruin her. One touch and her skin would harden, her eyes dull, one touch and she’d be numb forever.

No no no. A pale hand flashed by her ankle, a twisted mockery of innocence on the dolls face as it reached for her.

 _Join_ _us_ _Trina_. _Join_ _us_.

She shrieked, kicking out at it as hatred coiled in the pit of her stomach. A rage so black it frightened her looming just long enough to make her gasp before the world was tilting around her for real.  
She felt like Alice falling down the rabbit hole, stars bursting behind her eyes in slow motion as the world spun around her for a long, endless second. Then hands. Rough, sharp hands pinching into her sides. Burlap chafing her over sensitive skin as she was pulled upright into somebody's arms, held tight enough to hurt.

Her breath caught in a gasp, looking up and up and up into torn black holes where eyes should have been. A monster, a _scarecrow_ , archaic, archetypal, every lecture she’d ever attended on fear made real.

He pushed every other thought from her head, the dolls abandoned as the tips of his fingers bruised her waist, looking up into the blackness and finding something hungry staring back.

Could he be the one? No… no that was a grim reaper. But then why was he so steady in the chaos? Why was his touch igniting her skin like a spark to kindling. Like...

“Jonathan...” She breathed the name, the thought cutting through the daze like a scalpel, “I have to tell Jonathan…”

It was so clear she almost forgot what was happening, where she was, suddenly it seemed so important that she almost couldn’t breathe. She had to tell him, about the attack, about everything.

She had to.

Pulling herself free from the suddenly lax hands at her waist she turned away, stumbling through the crowd towards the door.

“I have to tell him.” She murmured to herself as she pushed through the chaos, glancing back only once. Just long enough to look at her strange rescuer, her new nightmare.

There was no more time to waste, she didn’t think of the day or the time, blind to reality as she headed towards the university.

 

✵✵✵

 

He barely made it to his office in time. Stripping out of his costume with shaking hands and shoving it hastily into the cupboard.

When she’d said his name… whatever it was holding his sanity together had fractured completely. Breaking away and leaving him wanting in the most desperate, painful way. Her terror, her wonder, it was more than he could bear.

He locked the cupboard, throwing the key into the drawer and hastily buttoning his shirt. He hadn’t even had a chance to replace his glasses before she appeared, stumbling through the door with the most glorious expression on her face.

“Jonathan, there… was another… attack…” she managed between heavy breaths, chest rising and falling in time as storm blue eyes caught his. The colour brightened with exertion and darkened with feeling. “At the Sigma house,” her tongue traced the curve of her lip and he found himself hypnotised, “it was… I can’t describe it.”

“Try.” His voice came out rough, the accent he usually suppressed choking the words in a thick drawl but he didn’t care. Couldn’t. Not with the phantom itch of burlap still scratching at his skin, screams echoing in his skull in time to the lusty pant of her breathing as he stalked towards her.  
He demanded her answer like he’d demanded their fear. His for the taking.

“It was in the air,” she murmured, eyes dancing as she sketched the words with her hands, “it was strangely sweet. Everyone was dancing… screaming… I could feel my heart beating so hard…”  
Her fingers fluttered over her collar bone, pressing against the soft swell of her breast like she could feel it still. Smudging the hairline crack she’d drawn there.

“And you liked it…” He was overstepping, he knew it, too much of _him_ still running through him. More beast than man as he crowded her space. Gaze still fixed in sharp on the leaping of her pulse in her throat, the plump curve of her mouth… “the fear.”

“Yes,” she breathed the word, only the barest ring of blue around her over blown pupils now. “It made me feel.”

“And what,” his hand was on her neck, he couldn’t seem to stop himself, drowning in the sensation of soft peach skin beneath his calloused fingers. In the way her pulse hitched and raced beneath his questing touch, “do you feel now?”

“Fear,” she murmured, leaning into his touch even as her face flushed. Cherry red burning in her cheeks as she met his gaze, “adrenaline, desperation… desire.”

“Do you want me to scare you?” He asked, his whole body tensed with need as she trembled beneath his touch. Her throat working under his fingers as she swallowed hard.

“I… I want you to kiss me.” She blushed as she said it, pressing her hand against his chest. Her fingertips rested over his heart, points of heat burning through his shirt where she touched him leaving black smears in their wake.

The want twisted inside of him, remembering the first woman who had lead him on this dance so long ago. That night had ended with him screaming, running. A cruel teenage prank that had ripped into the very fabric of his being. As if she could have wanted him, the most beautiful girl in school leading on the class freak. He should have been smarter back then, he should have known it could’ve only ended in disaster.

But Sherry Squires was dead now and Katrina… Katrina was very much alive. He wasn’t going to be frightened away this time. He wanted more. Wanted her closer, to possess her. To swallow her warmth whole and let it burn him up entirely.

A tinder spark to dry straw.

And if it was another cruel prank, another twisted game, well… his hand was still at her throat after all.

The decision was made.

A low growl rumbled up from the depths of his bones as he pressed in on her, slanting his mouth over hers with a finality that left him panting. Aflame. And when he stopped… well she was anything but laughing. A desperate whimper catching in her throat as her fingers tightened against him. Clutching him back to her like an addict searching for a fix.

His mouth twitched, the smile scarring brackets into his cheeks as he dragged his fingers through her thick golden hair. He tugged, pulling her head back and earning another of those delicious little noises of submission as he kissed her again.

A retelling of a story he’d been running from since his earliest memories.

Only this time… this time Ichabod would get his Katrina. Whatever the cost.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ TBC ~ Thanks so much for reading this far, your comments really do keep me writing so please consider leaving one if you’re enjoying the fic <333


	9. Gamophobia

Katrina had never been the type of girl to sleep with her professors.

Except for now of course, when she had in fact very much slept with her Professor. And _on_ her Professor too it seemed, her body moulded against a long, lean, rather boney frame as she slowly came to her senses. She looked up carefully, unwilling to move more than her eyes lest she wake him, even if his hip bone was jabbing into her side, the two of them cramped up like sardines in a can on the tiny moth eaten couch in his office.

 _Whoops_.

For just a moment she thought about blaming it all on the drama of the night before. The adrenaline, the tension, their emotions running high - especially for her, whose emotions still didn’t often go beyond a jog. But she couldn’t.

She realised now that whether she knew it or not she had wanted Jonathan Crane for a long time.  
Before him she hadn’t much had interest in the whole intimacy thing, sex had just been something that happened every now and then, another box to tick. It never meant anything, never affected her.

This had been different.

He had made her different.

Even before they’d fallen into bed, well, couch together he’d had an effect on her. She’d discovered a different side to herself in the weeks since she’d come off the meds, relearning herself on those long heat-soaked nights when she couldn’t sleep no matter how high the AC was cranked up.  
She’d imagined her hands were someone else’s, long fingered and tapered and sure. The voice whispering in her ear deep and flavored with the hint of a southern accent as it scraped her ear with praises and demands.

Yes, she wanted him. But what did _he_ want?

Easing her hand carefully out from under her as it started to go numb she froze as the deep, steady breathing beneath her cheek changed. The arms wrapped around her clenched tighter before amber brown eyes blinked uncertainly at her. Sleep-dazed and confused.

“Hi,” she offered, her heart lurched painfully in her chest. The feeling crystallizing into one stunningly obvious realization she’d been too blind to notice.

She liked him, more than liked him, too much probably. And she could only hope he liked her enough back that he wouldn’t push her away now.

“Hello,” he echoed, long fingers flexing almost curiously against her ribs and sending her pulse fizzing. Then his expression changed, realisation dawning in the cold morning light as his fingers went slack against her skin, “oh… uh, good morning.”

He dropped his hold on her all at once, both of them awkwardly untangling themselves as they struggled up from the couch. She kept her face turned, avoiding his gaze as she searched for her dress. No amount of dim light could hide her blush, her disappointment.  
She already knew what was coming, she’d seen it in his face the moment he realized where he was and what they’d done.

“Here.” She looked up to find him waiting, still only half-dressed himself as he offered her the cheap purple costume. His shirt misbuttoned, hair mussed and tangled.

“Thanks,” she tried to smile but couldn’t make it stick, not with disappointment already weighing down on her like a lead weight. Teeth sinking into her lip she pulled her dress on, trying not to linger on the tear in the back of the bodice, the way it dragged against the bruises he’d sucked into her skin the night before.

Oh God what should she say? Was there anything she _could_ say? Anything to convince him that it hadn’t been a mistake?

Her heart twisted again, a knife sharp pain, she didn’t want it to be a mistake. Not when, for the first time in as long as she could remember, she’d felt seen. Truly and completely seen for who she was, every good and dark and broken part of her bathed in light as he’d taken charge of her body. As she’d offered herself up to him willingly, welcoming the control he took, the freedom it gave her. The pleasure.

Surely he couldn’t discard her now like it had been nothing?

He sighed and her heart splintered.

Yes. Yes he could.

“Katrina…” her name stung almost as much as the distance in his gaze, “listen… I think this was…” a mistake. A regret. A nightmare. “I behaved inappropriately, I apologise.”

“For what?” She asked, desperately searching his face for some trace of the man she’d seen last night, the one who’d said her name like a claiming, who’d held her so tightly she’d bear his marks for days, “I don’t see how it was inappropriate.”

She didn’t. Couldn’t. They liked each other, _wanted_ each other.

At least… at least she thought they had.

“I’m ten years your senior.” He murmured and she dropped her gaze. Bitterness coated her tongue, bones shaking with frustration as she stood helpless in front of him.

“I don’t care.” She said to her hands. They were both still adults weren’t they? Even if she did feel like a child now, standing chastised and sullen as she was exiled from the grown ups table

“You should,” he sounded so caring, so understanding, it made something behind her eyes burn, “I’m your professor. As much as I would like to… well, it wouldn’t be fair to you if we pursued this further.”

She turned away, gathering her belongings as calmly as she could even as her insides threatened to crumble. Held up by force of will alone as she finally worked up the nerve to look at him again at last.

“It doesn’t bother me,” she said, stark and honest as she stared deep into the amber of his eyes and envied the beetles that died there, “none of that does. I don’t think it really bothers you either.”

He hadn’t cared about that when they met after class afterall, sharing stories and ideas, he hadn’t cared last night.

“Katrina-”

“No,” she stopped him, holding up a hand as she burnt through the last of her courage, “I understand what you’re really saying and I want you to know I… I won’t cause you any more trouble. Goodbye Professor.”

Swallowing around the lump in her throat she turned on her heel, unlocking the office door with trembling fingers and leaving before he could stop her. Like he’d even try.  
He was getting what he wanted after all, she was gone and he could forget. Push aside his dirty, regretful tumble with an undergrad and move on with his life.

The fluorescent lights buzzed above her, her eyes blurring with each step she took. Insides aching so bad she thought she might be sick with it.

It was all his fault. He’d convinced her to come off the medication, he’d shown her how to experience life again. He’d set her loose in a bright, fearsome world of emotions and now… now she wanted more than anything to give them all back.

Even the numbness had been better than this.

 

✵✵✵

 

It was for the best.

That was the cold hard logical fact of it. He’d gotten in too deep, blurred the lines between scientific interest, fellow feeling and well… something far more dangerous. He’d let base emotions overtake his rational mind and that couldn’t be allowed.

He had goals. A plan. He couldn’t afford the attention it would bring if anyone discovered he was sleeping with a student.

His face heated unforgivably at the memory of that night, he’d been so bold. So powerful. Every inch of himself intune with what he wanted. _Who_ he wanted. The echo of her warmth threatened to overload him again, her sighs coiling around his ribs like vines and pulling.  
It was a bad idea. It was a distraction. And besides, he couldn’t risk the chance she might find out who exactly was behind the attacks. She might say she admired the Grim, the _Scarecrow_ , but reality was never so clean. She’d run. She’d call the police. She’d detest him for what he’d done. She’d ruin everything.

Better to focus, to dedicate himself to his craft like he should have done in the first place. Create something glorious and horrifying, a legacy worthy of-

“ _Fuck_!” The curse slipped out on instinct as he jerked back in his seat, the beaker beside him boiling over, spitting scalding chemicals over everything. Including himself.

Dragging it off the burner he swore again, rinsing his hands before scrubbing angrily at the surface of his desk.

Another batch of toxin ruined.

It occurred to him then how much easier it would all be if Katrina Vassal simply disappeared. A car crash, a heart attack, he’d done it before after all. A few drops of something in her tea, his hands around that pretty little throat of hers…

The thought made him growl, raking his fingers through snarled hair as he paced away from his work station. Those deaths had been earned, they’d been justified, and the others had been in the name of progress.

Hers would just be a… a _waste_.

She had such potential, a capable mind covering a well of darkness he’d barely begun to explore. The horrors she could experience, could overcome, it could be beautiful.

No, her only sin had been to tempt him when he had no time for temptation.

Sighing at his own weakness he glanced at the carriage clock ticking away on the mantle, four am. He had classes at eight. He should sleep.

But sleeping meant dreaming, loosening the choke hold he had on the other parts of himself. The surging, demanding darkness that didn’t give a fuck about science or reason or proprietary. It wanted what it wanted and didn’t like being denied. Fear, power, her.

A veritable bride for the monster.

No, there would be no time for sleep tonight. Turning from his desk he poured another cup of lukewarm coffee, grimacing at the grounds peppering the surface but chugging it down anyway. That done he dragged the chemicals he needed from the shelf and began to measure them.

Time to start again.

 

✵✵✵

 

Halloween came and went in a blur. Summer finally ended, hurried away by November’s dark skies and endless rainfall.

Katrina hardly noticed, too swept up in her own bleakness to notice that of the outside world. At least with the temperature dropping she should have less reason to long for sweet iced tea and lazy conversations.

 _Should_.

It was all perfectly logical really, her feelings explained away in the dull afternoon light. Thanks to her own screwed up background she’d never formed an attachment to another human being like that before. Was it any wonder that she’d become so hung up on it, on _him_ , when she had nothing in her life to compare it to?

It was all tragically mundane really.

She did the only thing she could do in its wake, she tried to move on. She stopped lingering after class on Thursdays, never raised her hand to ask a question or offer an opinion. Never met his eye.  
It was also the reason she agreed to the date with Caleb when he asked, despite Jenn’s scowls, he was nice after all. He liked her. Someone liked her.  
Wanted her.

So she put on a nice dress and let him take her to some mid-range Italian restaurant in town. She smiled when he smiled and laughed at his jokes. Picking at her pasta whilst all the while trying not to compare him to anyone else. To not think he was too short, too stocky. To find his chip-toothed grin endearing instead of off putting.

It didn’t work.

He tried to kiss her at the end of the night but she backed away, his mouth cold and awkward and all at the wrong angle. They were better as friends she said, trying not to wince at the shock in his eyes. The way he bounced back too fast with another grin, like it didn’t even matter. Like it didn’t hurt.

Gritting her teeth at the memory Kat hauled herself up from her bed, it was midday already and she hadn’t even bothered to get dressed yet. Stomach growling she headed for the kitchen, reminding herself she had classes tomorrow.

Psyche class tomorrow.

She turned away from the refrigerator, suddenly not hungry anymore. A deep seated ache flared between her ribs, a pin-prick of pain on the left side of her chest. Over her… her…

Brrpt! Brrpt!

Startling at the sudden noise Kat turned away, scrambling for the ringing phone in the hallway.

Thanking God for telemarketers right up until the moment she answered it.

“Halls and Vassal residence, Katrina speaking.”

“Your grandmother’s dead.”

“Oh.” Was all she could think to reply, rooted to the spot as a new wash of rage and confusion and guilt joined the net of feelings currently threatening to drag her under.  
It was her mother.

“The funeral is on Monday,” Irene said, snapped really, huffing out a breath like it was all very inconvenient to her, “It’ll be at the church in Woodbury with the wake at her house afterwards. You’ll need to stay until at least the weekend to help me sort her things. Do you need airfare?”

“I’ll get the bus,” was all she could think to say, scribbling a note on the pink hello kitty notepad Jenn had left by the phone without thinking.

“Good.”

The rest of the conversation was as short and unpleasant as the start, but even after it ended she couldn’t quite bring herself to hang up the phone. The dial tone was still buzzing by her ear a quarter of an hour later when the front door slammed open.

“Oh _you’re_ here,” Jenn said nastily, eyes hard as they swept over her, “shouldn’t you be out with Caleb again?”

“We’re not dating.” She said for the dozenth time, dropping the phone back into its cradle almost guiltily, “I’ll be out of town next week.”

“Why’s that?” Jenn still hadn’t stopped glaring, gaze cold as she started unloading her bag onto the side. Notes and opened candy spilling out in a sticky mess onto the hardwood.  
Kat looked down at the note she’d written, ‘grandmother dead, funeral Monday.’

“My grandmother died.”

“Oh.” Jenn froze, bag dropping as she looked up at last with eyes three sizes bigger than they usually were, “Oh Kat, God I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

The hug came out of nowhere, thin arms enveloping her in a cloud of floral perfume and hairspray as Jenn clutched onto her.

“I…” she was wasn't she? She had never loved her Grandmother, perhaps that was a cruel thing to say but it was true, she was cold and distant and proper. The holidays she spent at her house were more from duty than an actual desire to see the old woman.

Before she might have blamed it on the pills but now she knew her disinterest was all her own, an absence where feeling should be.

So why was she suddenly crying?

“Of course your not okay,” Jenn squeezed her tightly, “and here I am being a total bitch to you over stupid Caleb. Worst friend ever.”

“It’s okay,” she sobbed, burying her face in Jenn’s hair as the feeling wracked through her in waves leaving her shaking as tears scalded down her face, “it’s okay. I’m okay.”

She was… wasn’t she?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ TBC ~ Huge thanks again for reading this far, I’m still reeling over the fact there actual human beings reading this fic other than myself! XD Thank you so much and I really hope you consider leaving a comment if you’re still enjoying the story! (Even after this admittedly terrible chapter - I couldn’t help myself, I’m always a sucker for some mutual pining! XD) <333


	10. Necrophobia

 

 

He almost thought he was dreaming when Katrina approached his desk at the end of Thursdays class. He still couldn’t decide if their lectures were the worst two hours of his week, or the best. She was always there at least, three rows from the front with her eyes fixed steadily on her work. Never once meeting his gaze.

Until now.

“Excuse me, Professor Crane.” Her voice was damn near unrecognisable, the same hollow dullness to it as the first time they’d met. Like she’d fallen out of sync with reality again, all his hard work undone, “I’m going to be absent from next week's class. Is there any material I should read to catch up?”

He couldn’t stand it.

“Katrina,” just saying her name made him feel unaccountably awkward, coming around the desk like his whole body was made of elbows, “what is it? What happened?”

“I have to attend a funeral back…out of state, I’ll only miss the one class though.” She was as cold and still as the porcelain dolls she had been so afraid of. As if she was punishing him with her stillness.

Was this really the same woman who had laughed at his admittedly terrible jokes, who smiled every time she saw him, who’d trembled under his hands as she offered up her body to him. Her _soul_.

“Katrina…” he said her name again and she flinched, the first reaction. Cracks forming in her facade as panic started to spark in her dark eyes, lightning flashes against the stormy blue.

So she was still in there.

He bit the inside of his cheek, her expression made something in him twitch, eager fingers ready to dig deeper. To break the perfect shell she presented and suck the marrow from her.

“If not I’ll leave you to it,” she said stiffly, her knuckles clenched white at her sides as she turned away.

His hand shot out, seizing her wrist before she could take more than a step. He didn’t care whether the classroom was empty or not, overruled by his emotions again as he pulled her back to face him harder than he should have.

“Don’t go.” He heard himself demand as she stumbled, wide eyes snapping up to his in shocked accusation.

“But-” irritation flashed across her face, anger, hurt, “you told me-”

“Forget what I said,” he snapped, tugging her closer to him until he could smell her perfume again. Cherries and incense. Dark and intoxicating and her, “I was wrong to try and push you away.”

Well, not wrong exactly but short sighted maybe. There was a bigger picture here, a greater goal. One he needed her nearby for if it was going to succeed.

She had been such a promising project after all, one that he’d given up on far too soon.

“Please,” she whispered, looking down at his hand where it still grasped her arm, her skin reddening beneath his touch, “don’t toy with me. I can’t…”

“I mean it Katrina,” he said, uncompromising. Forcing her to meet his gaze again, his free hand catching her jaw and holding fast, “I can’t say I know what this thing between us is or even if it will work but… I intend to find out. With you.”

She looked at him for so long and so hard he was worried she might see through him completely. All the layers, the damage and darkness, the man, the monster, the weakness that sat at his core.  
For the first time in a long time he was almost… afraid.

But then she nodded, exhaling as the rain beat loud and hard against the windows and he could breathe again.

“Okay,” she murmured, eyes turning liquid as she gazed at him, all longing and hurt, “But… just be honest with me Jonathan, after everything that happened with my mother, my life, I can’t accept anything less.”

He was glad afterwards that the classroom _was_ empty, surging down to claim her mouth in the hush without thinking twice. Needing to reassert himself, to claim his dominance.

To mark her somehow as his.

Hoping at the back of his mind that she would take his kiss as sign of agreement to a promise he’d never make. Honesty was not something he could afford, one day she might even understand why.

 

✵✵✵

 

It was surreal, sitting in a coffee shop on the edge of town with him, her mouth still burning with the memory of his kiss as she watched him dump packet after packet of sugar into his coffee.  
Why had she agreed after he’d rejected her like that? Hurt her like that?  
How could she not?

“So how do you feel about it?”

They were talking about her grandmother, the funeral. It was as if no time had passed, as if nothing had happened at all. Just him and her and all the things she usually didn’t know how to say as he swept her into his world once more. A tornado she couldn’t escape.

One she didn’t want to.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, tracing her finger through the ring her cup had left on the tabletop as the feelings prickled through her, “mostly indifferent I guess, and guilty that I feel indifferent. My grandmother wasn’t exactly a nice woman, I don’t think she ever like children much.”

 _Me_. She substituted the word in her head, _she_ _never_ _liked_ _me_ _much_. And looking back, well Katrina hadn’t liked her much either. Just another person she was expected to please, another person she inevitably disappointed.

Bracing her chin against her hand she looked up at Jonathan and asked him the question that had been bothering her since she’d heard the news, “Does that make me a terrible person?”

He met her gaze over the rim of his coffee cup, something heavy in his eyes she couldn’t quite understand. Stark and strange and impossible to look away from. It was ridiculous how much she’d missed his eyes. Something in her chest twinged, the part of her that knew she was just another insect swept along in his tide. Just as inevitable to drown.

“I was raised by my grandmother,” he said, his still intensity sucking the air from her lungs, “and when she died I mostly felt… relief.”

Her gaze flickered over him, over their past conversations and the things she’d seen before. The grooves carved out of his back like tiger stripes, the ones she'd dug her fingers into that night before Halloween. Someone had to put them there, and if he hadn’t been raised by his parents well...

“Was she the one who...?” She gestured vaguely, face burning red as she tried for tact and missed by a mile, “I noticed the scars before...”

The skin had been so smooth, long strips raised beneath her questing fingertips as his teeth sank into the delicate flesh of her neck. One long fingered hand still coiled in her hair, tugging her head back as he marked her, as he…

“That was her way of correcting me,” he said, snapping her back into the moment with a jolt. Guilt rushed through her, oily and shameful as his lips thinned into a humorless smile, “A cane. A belt. A bible. Her death was a liberation. Now,” he fixed his attention on her completely, “do you think that makes me a terrible person?”

“No,” she said instantly, head shaking vehemently as she closed her hand over his on the table. Needing to touch him somehow, to share the empathy squeezing in her chest, the anger. “I just think it’s a shame she never faced justice for what she did. She deserved to be punished.”

Worse than punished. She deserved to be flayed. The force of her rage surprised her, burning like a coal in her stomach as she imagined it. How dare anyone lay hands on a child like that.

On him.

“If there’s an afterlife I’m sure she is.” He slipped his fingers through hers, lacing them together as the darkness flashed in his gaze again. She refused to shy away from it, he deserved his rage. His hatred. He’d more than earned them. “I’m sure she is.”

“Good.”

“My, such passion,” just like that he was teasing again, his thumb stroking over the back of her hand as he took another sip from his coffee, “don’t you harbour the same vehemence for your own tormentors?”

“Not my grandmother perhaps but when I think about facing Irene...” She shuddered despite the warm hush of the coffee shop, cold fury cutting through her again. Panic, hatred, it squeezed and squeezed until she thought she might suffocate, her hand clenching tight around his.

Irene had taken everything from her. Broken every unspoken vow a mother made to protect her child and dosed her instead. Like Katrina was an infection that needed medicating away. Irene was the disease, the broken thing, she was the one who deserved- who deserved-

Exhaling hard Katrina fought to shake the sudden dark twist of her thoughts away, trying to smile again only to pull back guiltily as she realized she’d dug crescent moons into Jonathan’s skin with her nails.

He held tight, tugging her even closer until their heads were bent together over the small table. The room shrinking by the second as he pinned her with a look.

“Don’t run from your feelings Katrina,” he said with such conviction she couldn’t even think to protest, “not when you’re so fully justified in them.”

 

✵✵✵

 

How could he have denied himself this?

For once the fractured shards of himself felt almost aligned, a momentary truce called within as he watched her struggle to articulate herself. The darkness and uncertainty dancing over her features like a shadow play.

The woman, the experiment, the maiden for his monster.

A perfect trifecta.

“You can only deal with your feelings by facing them,” he told her, feeling her pulse rushing beneath his fingers. Unable to keep from digging deeper, head tilting as he asked, “your feelings for your mother for instance, what she did to you, what do you think justice would look like for her?”

Katrina’s eyes flickered over his, preternaturally still as she considered it. It was one of the things he most appreciated about her. She didn’t just blurt out what she thought she should say when he asked her something, she took her time. Answered honestly.

A scientists wet dream.

“I’d want her to know what it was like,” she whispered after a moment, small fingers coiled tight in his again, “the hopeless realisation that you’re… frozen. That everything that made you you, your drive, your passion, your feelings, have all been taken away from you. I’d want her to feel helpless.”  
There was such stark feeling in her gaze it made him tremble. He almost wished he was an artist just so he could try to capture it. The perfectly still rage, the desperation, somehow raw and calculated all at once as her eyes sank into his.  
The silence lingered, his tongue tied into knots until the intensity of her expression broke, the hint of a self deprecating smile turning up the corner of her mouth as she picked up her hot chocolate again.  
“Or maybe I should just try and find the Grim and ask him to do it, do you think he has a suggestion box?”

The Grim. He tried not to scowl, word hadn’t gotten out about his true form then. Well, it had been a halloween party after all, next time he’d have to be less tactful about it.  
Still, misnamed or not, he couldn’t help but be torn as she brought him up again. Intrigue, jealousy, desire. It pressed his every button.

“It depends I suppose,” he made himself say, unwilling to betray his ulterior interest as he catalogued her reactions, “on whether you believe he’s attacking randomly or if there’s some… purpose behind the incidents.”

“Oh purpose definitely.” He startled back at the easy conviction in her voice as she said it, eyes brightening as she smiled across the table at him for real, herself once more it seemed, “I mean just look at his targets.”

“What do you mean?” His hand clenched around hers, forcing himself to ease his grip as she started in surprise.

“Well… it’s obvious isn’t it? Sigma house, the Pheta boys, that mixer at Has Beans, he’s going after the fraternities. It makes it easier for people to dismiss as hazing true, but I think there’s a deeper reason.”

“Revenge?” He questioned her too quickly, unable to stop himself from searching for more, “or a mercenary interest perhaps?”

“Hmm maybe,” her gaze returned to her cup, stirring it thoughtfully as he fought the urge not to prompt her. Impatience crawling beneath his skin like ants, turning dark inside of him, “maybe not.”

“Katrina.” Her name came out like a warning, a low growl as she peeped up through her lashes at him again. She was teasing him. _Him_.

“Fine,” she sighed, cheeks dimpling as she leaned forward in her seat, so close he could smell the sweetness lingering on her tongue, “it could be revenge, or that’s he’s being paid, but I don’t think so. I think… I think he’s trying to do something. Level the playing field. Think about it, he doesn’t attack the underprivileged, he’s not scaring the janitor or the girls walking home alone at night. What’s the point? They already know fear. The frat boys however,” her gaze turned dark, impossible to look away from as her mouth twisted, “they’ve never been scared of anything in their lives. Until he came along.”

“But you were caught up in it too,” his heart beat a heavy tattoo in his chest, head spinning with her words even as she twisted her fingers in his, “do you think you deserved it?”

“Maybe,” she shrugged, “it woke me up that's for sure, but maybe I was just… collateral damage. Either way I can’t help but believe there’s something greater at work here than just… hazing.”

If only she knew.

Well… why shouldn’t she? The words burnt in his throat, suddenly desperate to spill out. To tell her everything and see the wonder in her eyes, to taste her gratitude as she thanked him for all he’d done. Beg him for answers, for a better understanding of his grand plan…

No. No it would never end like that, for all her pretty words she couldn’t mean it. She’d react with horror at what he’d done to her, betrayal.

“I suppose you’re right.” He said instead, pushing down the darkness until he felt hollow with it, “so when do you leave for Connecticut?”

Just like that the conversation shifted, the past slipping away in the warmth of coffee shop as the sky emptied itself outside. She smiled and something in his chest ached, it was better this way. Better she not know.

No matter how much he wanted to tell her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ TBC ~ Shout to everyone taking the time to read and review! Thank you so much, and of course I really hope you consider leaving a comment if you’re still enjoying the story! (And if you think Jon boy has redeemed himself after last chapters tom foolery XD) <333


	11. Pygmachophobia

 

Connecticut hadn’t changed, but Katrina had.

A fact that became all too obvious as she slipped into her old life like a coat two sizes too small, all digging seams and straining zippers. It wasn’t home. Maybe it never had been, the concept nebulous to her now, strange.

Home wouldn’t smell like lemon cleaner and hand sanitizer. She wasn’t sure but she thought it might smell like old books and coffee, a little bit dusty maybe but… warm.

Home wouldn’t make her skin crawl with every snide look and patronising comment, the pearl clutching and crocodile tears.

The question Jonathan asked her in the coffee shop rose again and again. Every time she met Irene’s gaze it returned, a loose tooth she couldn’t help but to prod at. Painful and satisfying in the same breath.

What _would_ justice for Doctor Irene Vassal look like?

Katrina wondered about it as she was forced through yet another unbearable family dinner. Jaw aching with tension as she shoveled a forkful of dry chicken into her mouth, hoping a full mouth would spare her from having to talk at least as her mother and aunts needled each other from across the table. Her father's seat had been empty since he'd left them eleven long years ago.

Then again it wasn't as if her so called ‘family’ had ever expected much of her in the way of conversation, drugged, docile Katrina would just blink and nod. Agree with anything anyone said and fade away.

Awake Katrina was too angry to break the habit of a lifetime, and at least thinking up punishments for Irene made the time tick by faster. She was toying with the idea of getting her mother’s medical license revoked as she poked at her string beans, but it seemed too easy. Too ordinary.  
She could pay her back in kind she supposed, wake up early and slip Somlasidan into her tea every morning for the rest of her life. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about it already…

Irene caught her gaze, Katrina’s nails digging fresh grooves into her palms as her mother eyeballed her over the dinner table. Their last few fractured conversations played over and over in her head.

  
‘ _You need the medication, Trina, it’s for your own good. I’m only trying to help you, why are you being so ungrateful? I thought I’d raised you better than this. It will affect your grades you know, and your appetite. I’m your mother, Trina, I know best.’_

No.

No, poisoning her with Somlasidan would require far too much contact. Less than a week and Katrina was already clawing for a way out, willing to do just about anything to get back to Gotham and away from this nightmare. Whatever punishment Irene deserved, it should be faster. A swift justice.

What then?

What about… _yes_ , that might work, some sort of paralysing agent. Something that would work fast but keep Irene’s mind totally clear as she froze. That would be fair, wouldn’t it? To show her what it was like to be helpless, completely at someone else’s mercy as she was robbed of control.

That would be _justice_.

But where could she get a paralysing agent from… wait, what was she even _thinking_? Shaking the thought away Katrina rose from the hush of the dinner table. Excusing herself quietly and hurrying to her old room before anyone could stop her.

It was a thought, that was all, purely academic. She wouldn’t really do that.

Would she?

Sitting alone in her childhood bedroom she wasn’t so sure, everything here had been chosen for her. The pink floral curtains, the chintzy comforter, even the posters on her wall had been bought by others and stuck up without much thought.

She hadn’t cared enough to change it, to protest it, to protest anything. Her identity swept away until she was nothing but a compliant little… doll.

Tearing down the cutesy leaping dolphins poster above her bed she crumpled it into a ball.

One more night and she could be free.  
One more night and she could be herself again.

 

✵✵✵

 

Jonathan had offered to pick Katrina up from the bus station, waiting outside the front with his hands in his pockets and a scowl on his face as he tried to figure out why.

He still couldn’t quite comprehend that they’d become… well whatever they were. Boyfriend and girlfriend? It sounded so juvenile and yet it still had the capacity to make him blush as he kicked at the gravel and waited.

He’d never seen himself as the type for a girlfriend. A partner perhaps. An acolyte. A willing supplicant to this teachings… but then, the label wasn’t what mattered. It was the bond that did, the twist in their relationship allowing him more access, more intimacy with her. Letting him mould her properly into what she might become.

That was all.

Really.

He was still pondering it when the bus turned up, wondering why the week without her had dragged so. Scientific impatience perhaps? They’d only been… well… together for three days before she’d had to leave but it felt longer. Long enough for his plans to take on plans to take on plans. Long enough for him to notice her absence.

“Jonathan!”

He came too all at once as she appeared in front of him, a mirage he’d conjured like a man in the desert.

“Hi,” she smiled, seeming almost surprised to find him there as she struggled beneath a large cardboard box, her suitcase dragged along at her side, “I didn’t know if you’d be here or not.”

“I said I would, didn’t I?” He took the box from her easily, raising his eyebrows at her over the top of it, “what’s in here?”

“My bequeathment,” she sighed, following him as he headed back to the car, “I haven’t had a chance to open it yet so God only knows what’s in there. What do you think my odds are on priceless heirlooms and gold bars?”

“Slim,” he smiled despite himself as he dropped it into the trunk and pushed her suitcase in after it.  
Wiping off his hands he turned to face her, allowing himself to take her properly in at last as his eyes travelled from her head to toes and back.

She looked tired, dark circles forming beneath her eyes, making them seem even bigger in her heart shaped face. Wide and innocent as she blinked her lashes at him like she still didn’t quite believe he was there. Her smile small but genuine, hopeful even.

Unbidden he kissed her, having to bend almost in two even as she surged up on her tiptoes. It was almost chaste in comparison to some of their kisses, the times when his darkness slipped loose and he… well. Better not to think on it now.

“It’s good to see you again,” he murmured, running his fingers through her golden hair. She looked like something from an old silent movie, a damsel just waiting to be tied to the train tracks.

“You too,” she whispered back, “I didn’t realise how much I’d miss Gotham until I was gone.”

“Gotham?” He couldn’t help but taunt her, allowing himself this little flex of power just to watch her blush. The knowledge he could affect her so much without the toxin, without anything, was as heady as it was unfamiliar.

“Yes,” there it was, the cherry pink flush that raced across her face. Freckles dancing against it as she ducked her head, “and… and the people in it.”

“Hmm,” was all he said, opening the door for her before crossing to climb in himself.

“So,” she cleared her throat, peeping up at him from beneath her lashes as he started the engine, “my roommate's away this weekend, if you wanted to stay for dinner. Well, take out anyway. It’s the least I could do.”

“I’d love to.”

The vial in his pocket had never been heavier, but it had been too long since her last dose and they had work to do.

 

✵✵✵

 

The apartment seemed so much smaller with Jonathan in it, the air static-y and sweet as they shared a pizza over the cramped kitchen table.

Katrina was just glad that Jenn hadn’t left the place a total mess whilst she was gone.  
That would be embarrassing.

“Here,” he topped up her glass, unable to hide his southern charm from her when he’d gotten the plates and poured the drinks as she’d answered the door. The perfect gentleman, “aren’t you curious?”

They were talking about the box, it was just sitting there. Unopened. Lurking in the door of her bedroom like a shadow.

Whatever her grandmother had left her, Katrina doubted it was any good. Knowing her luck it would be full of old clothes she’d deemed ‘too good’ for charity and a stack of membership forms and instructions for the society’s she should join and the men she should date.

Like the Daughters of the American Revolution needed another Mills-Vassal on the books.

Jonathan however didn’t seem to share her recitence, almost adorably curious as he pushed away his empty plate. His brows furrowed as he looked at the box like it might spring open at any moment.  
“Come on then,” she sighed, unable to keep from smiling as she abandoned the last slice of pizza and beckoned him to follow her, “grab that knife would you? Let’s find out what’s in the box.”

Why was it a half hour in his company could have her heart racing like a horse on a track? Adrenaline rushing through her as he handed her the knife. The blade shined silver bright as he followed her into her bedroom, pushing the box into the middle of the floor where they could see it better.  
They knelt beside it, a faint tremor in Katrina’s hand as she slid the blade along the taped up seam. The crackle of cardboard the only sound as she worked it through the edges.

“Here goes nothing,” she muttered, saying a silent prayer as she lifted the flap and peered inside.

 _Eyes_.

Dozens upon dozens of eyes.

She froze as she met them, glassy and accusatory as they peered through thin scraps of bubble wrap at her. Like they’d been waiting.

Sinking back on her heels she couldn’t help but laugh, a panicked sound that was almost a sob as she gestured for Jonathan to look.

“That bitch.”

 

✵✵✵

 

Dolls. Dozens of the things, peering up from their cardboard tomb as Katrina rocked back on her heels. Jonathan couldn’t keep from starting as he saw them.

Katrina was right.

Her grandmother really was a bitch.

“Are you okay?” He’d only given her a low dose of toxin with their meal, but even that… well she’d been so long without it. He couldn’t be certain of the effects with this added stimuli.

She nodded, wiping at her eyes with a sigh.

“I think so,” picking one out from the box she held it up to the lights. Burnished blonde ringlets spilled over her fingers, the colour so similar to her own she might have been looking at a poppet of herself. “I just can’t believe she did this. Well actually I can, somehow that makes it worse. I'm starting to think it’s my destiny to become as vile as the other women in my family.”

“You are not your mother Katrina, or your grandmother. Not any more than I am mine.” He said, feeling the strangest urge to comfort her. The need to soothe a kindred spirit fighting with his desire for her fear, “You choose your own path.”

“My path is going to involve a lot less stone cold bitchery,” her eyes crinkled as she smiled at him, her hands still trembling slightly around the dolls perfect lavender dress, “and a lot,  _lot_ less china dolls.”

“You said something before about them,” he hedged, unable to keep his thirst for knowledge in check for long, “about being afraid what would happen if they touched you?”

“You remember that?” She smiled wanly, tracing her fingers over the delicate porcelain features of the doll in her lap, “It’s ridiculous.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“I got it from this book I read as a kid I think, there was this girl who got trapped in a magic dollhouse, everything in it was a replica of her home but better. _Perfect_. Only… only when she was in there she started changing. Her skin became porcelain, doll like, she stopped moving, stopped caring… just stopped. Her friend tried to save her but started changing herself… I don’t even remember how it ended. If they escaped or not.”

His hand covered hers, calloused fingertips brushing over her skin. He could feel her pulse racing beneath her touch as she looked back at the doll. “It stuck with me for some reason, and in my head it got twisted into that all dolls, these dolls, had the same power. I thought they took children and turned them into dolls, children like me. One touch and I’d be just like that trapped girl. Just like them.”

She flicked a finger against the cold porcelain, making it ring hollowly in the room.

“I guess I was afraid to lose my emotions, myself , so scared I didn’t even realise that it was happening anyway, and now I’ve got it back…”

“You don’t want to lose it again?”

“ _Never_.” She bit out, suddenly vehement, “but I don’t want to be afraid of it anymore either.”

She hefted the doll in her hand, gold ringlets spilling over her fingers as it flopped. Then she smashed it, driving it hard and fast into the floor until it's face was in shards. She laughed, blood dripping down her fingers as she grabbed another and another. Tears tracking down her cheeks as she smashed the dolls in a whirl of emotion.

“ _Katrina_ ,” he shouted, lunging forward and catching her arms as she reached for the next. He could feel her shaking now, see the panic glazing over her eyes as she shuddered in his grasp, “you're hurting yourself.”

Her hands were bleeding. Thin lacerations tracing her fingers, her palms, red beading along them as she looked up at him in surprise.

“Why did she do this to me?” She asked in that still soft hollow voice, whether she was speaking of her grandmother or mother though he couldn’t say. Maybe both. Maybe neither. “Why can’t I make it stop?”

Her pulse was rushing beneath his fingertips, wrists still held tight in his grasp. Slackening his hold he opened his arms to her instead, holding her tightly as she curled into him. Shaking like a leaf in a storm.

“Breathe Katrina,” he hushed, feeling the warmth of her blood soaking through his shirt as she held onto him like he was the only thing keeping her from drowning. Her chest heaving with the effort as something inside of him twisted and turned. Guilt. Sorrow. Determination.

”I can’t get rid of them,” she murmured against his throat, “everything else feels… it’s like electricity, but then they… they… why can’t I make them go away? Why won’t they go away? I don’t want to be afraid of them anymore.”

“You’re going to be alright Katrina,” he promised, lips pressed tight against her hair as he held her closer still, “I’ll make sure of it.”

He would.

His path was clear now, he had to free Katrina from this final hurdle. It was the only thing standing in their way. The only thing keeping her from her true glory.

He’d seen her afraid before, watched her welcome it with open arms, bending to it like a flower to the sun. Felt the heat it stoked in her like wildfire. It was only this last phobia keeping her from reaching her true potential.

The dolls. The symbols of her own captivity, a porcelain effigy of the control her mother had wielded over her. The suffering her grandmother had inflicted.

He would eliminate that fear in her whatever it took.  
He would set her free.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC ~ Ahhh so sorry for the delay on this one guys! I’m slap bang in the middle of moving houses so everything’s a bit all over the place atm ^^;  
> Thanks for sticking with me though if you’re still reading, and please do consider leaving me a comment if you’re enjoying it! They keep me writing! :-D
> 
> Oh! And I should mention Kat’s doll ‘book’ is actually based off of an episode of ‘Are You Afraid of the Dark’ that fucked me the hell up as a kid (and too this day tbh) and was one of the major inspirations for her and this story! I changed it into a book instead of a TV show only because I wanted to keep the time setting for this fic nebulous :-D


	12. Monophobia

 

They’d cleared up the pieces together, his hands sturdy and sure as he’d cleaned and dressed her cuts. Helping her gather up all the broken dolls into a trash bag and dumping them outside. And then, when he’d made love to her afterwards, it had been with such fervour and care she’d almost forgotten that she’d fallen apart at all.

The rainy weather couldn’t touch her after that, not as they settled into a strange routine.

More often than not the day ended with her curled up on the couch in his office, working on her assignments as he graded papers at his desk. No need for forced conversation or awkward chatter as his static-y old radio played something soft in the background and the rain beat hard against the window. The only interruption were the muttered comments about the state of the country’s youth, or a good natured argument over whether ‘The Mysteries of Udolpho’ or ‘The Romances of the Forest’ was the more seminal of Anne Radcliffe’s work.

He was adorably wrong.

She found excuses to be out of the apartment, to spend her evenings at his house instead. In his bed. Alive again under his eyes.

It was like living in a perfect dream.

Apart from one thing.

_ Jenn. _

Gritting her teeth Katrina dialled up the temperature of the shower, water scalding over fresh bruises and tender skin as she thought about her roommate. After three years of supreme disinterest Jenn had finally started asking questions, poking and prodding about where Katrina was all the time.

_ It’s not like you have a social life, where do you even go? _

Had she always been so… well…  _ bitchy?  _ How could Katrina not have noticed it before? The snide comments and eye rolls, the endless patronisation. Gasping like Kat was a dog who’d done a trick when she spotted the mark Jonathan had left on her throat.

She ran her fingers over it, skin tingling with the memory of his mouth when he’d kissed her. For someone so calm and composed he could be so passionate, so  _ demanding  _ and controlling and.. _.  _ well _ ,  _ better not to start down that line of thought unless she wanted to have to turn the water temperature down to zero.

She thought of Jenn instead again, the way her mouth had popped as she’d wrenched Katrina’s hair aside.

_ Now you have to tell me,  _ she’d cried, yanking hard,  _ jeez who knew you had it in you, nerd. Who is he, the mailman?  _

God, every time she flipped that liquorice black hair of hers and snorted Katrina just wanted to slap her. Sick and tired of sneaking into and out of her own apartment to be with the man she cared about, to explain away the evidence of their dalliances as accidents, bruises, birthmarks. Having to edge around every conversation, avoid every pointed look.

The anger coiled inside of her, hot and sharp as she fought the urge to scatter Jenn’s perfectly arranged shower caddy across the room. Her OCD worthy display demanding that everything be in  _ just  _ the right place, like she didn’t treat the rest of the apartment like her own personal pigsty.

Katrina ran her hand over the expensive products, the fifty dollar conditioner, the floral scented hair removal cream. How had she never noticed how similar they were before? If it wasn’t for their strategic placement at opposite ends of the caddy they’d be interchangeable.  S ame size, same weight, same bubblegum pink labelling that meant the store could charge twice as much for them.

She picked them up without thinking, weighing the tubes in her hands as the water ran hot and hard against her back. It would be so easy to get them confused. So, so easy… 

_ Thud thud thud! _

Katrina dropped the tubes, almost slipping as someone hammered hard against the bathroom door.

“Hurry the fuck up in there Kat!” Jenn yelled, making her wince as she scrambled to pick up the fallen beauty products, “some of us actually have like  _ lives  _ and things we need to get on with!”

“I’ll be out in a minute,” she called back, jaw tensing hard as she turned off the water and jammed the products back into the caddy. Hurrying to grab a towel as she complied with her bully of a roommate, next year she was living alone. No question.

Well, unless Jonathan… no, no time to think about that. Snatching up her robe she unlocked the door and let Jenn barge past her, ignoring the snide comments as best she could and heading for her bedroom instead.

It was funny, she’d been in such a hurry she couldn’t quite remember which end of the caddy she’d stuck Jenn’s products back in. Did the hair removal cream or the conditioner go in the left side?

Oh well, it didn’t matter, she was sure Jenn would check before she used them.

And if she didn’t… well that was just  _ karma,  _ right?

 

—-

 

Katrina’s words followed Jonathan for weeks afterwards, the image of her with tears in her eyes and red staining her fingers. 

_ Why can’t I make it stop? _

Katrina didn’t understand yet, there was  _ no _ stopping it, not now. The only way to escape the fire was to go through it, to let it burn you alive and somehow come out stronger.

The only way to truly beat fear was to embrace it,  _ become _ it, like he had. Like she could…

“I wondered if maybe you’d like to come to mine after class today,” Katrina’s words broke through his thoughts, she was perched on the edge of his desk, teeth gnawing at her plump bottom lip, “if you’re not busy of course.”

He opened his mouth to agree and closed it again, it was a weekday. Her  _ friend  _ was always in on a weekday, their trysts confined to his office and residence where they wouldn’t be disturbed.

_ Curious _ .

“What about your roommate?” He asked, brows furrowing as his mind ticked, the term didn’t end for another few weeks after all, “Has she gone home early for the holidays?”

Katrina’s smile could have lit up all of the Christmas trees already littering the campus with premature plastic cheer.

“I suppose you could say that, she’ll be gone until after Christmas now at least, maybe longer,” the dimple at the corner of her mouth deepened, eyes sparking with a wicked sort of joy, “there was an… incident. She’s decided to spend some time back home to  _ recover.” _

Oh there was a story there all right, one that made his blood run hot as she beamed, warming him up from the inside as he ran his fingers through her hair. What had she done?

“Oh really?” He heard himself ask, mind momentarily disconnecting as she rose to her feet, so close he could feel the heat of her skin as he trapped her against the edge of the desk.

“Mmhmm, which means,” he was hypnotised by the way her breath hitched just a little, cheeks flushing as she adjusted his tie, “I have the apartment all to myself for the foreseeable future. It gets awful lonely in there.”

“Well we can’t have that can we?” He murmured, mind already racing with the millions of unspoken possibilities. With the roommate gone it would be so much easier to be near her, to monitor the increased dosages he’d been administering to her.

Besides, Jennifer whatever-her-name-was was  _ not  _ the right sort of company for Katrina to keep. The girl was a vapid, conceited bully, the high school elite who never gave up their invisible crowns. Katrina should be around people who understood her.

People like  _ him _ .

Despite the fact it was the middle of the day and someone could knock on his office door at any moment he couldn’t help but kiss her. Claiming her mouth in a show of pride,  _ domination _ . Reminding himself again that she was here, she was  _ real. _

Even now, with her hands against his chest as she pressed herself into his arms he had trouble believing it. Almost convinced she was a figment he’d invented to torture himself with.

But no, she was warm and real and smelt like ripe black cherries. Her lips drowning him with the taste of peaches for hours after every kiss. She was special, and soon, very soon, she’d have to prove it. To walk through her nightmares and into freedom.

If he was wise he’d do it soon, she was so close to being ready, being worthy of being by his side.

“Oh,” her breathy little gasp travelled like lightning down his spine, her pupils blown wide as she drew back from his kiss, “so… my place? Tonight?”

But he wouldn’t test her yet.

Tonight he had other plans.

“I’ll be there.”

 

—-

 

His promise rushed through her like liquid fire, back arching as she stretched up to claim his mouth again.

One kiss was never enough, she felt like an addict. It was ridiculous but every time she was with him she couldn’t help but feel more  _ alive.  _ Her pulse ran harder, breath came quicker, a constant thrill of adrenaline rushing just beneath her skin every time she was in his arms.

He was intoxicating.

“ _ Katrina _ ,” he said her name like a warning and her heart raced even harder, swallowing a gasp as he broke the kiss. He didn’t pull away though, still pressed tight against her until he was all she could see, “my break is almost over.”

“Sorry,” she whispered, insincere to the extreme as she traced the curve of his mouth with her eyes, unable to keep from pressing closer. Needing the thrill of him again.

She’d been on edge since Jenn had left that morning, up half the night ‘ _ consoling’ _ her after her unfortunate accident with the hair removal cream. Well really, she should have been more careful, and besides it was only  _ hair. _

Katrina had hers chopped off once before after all and she’d gotten over it,  _ and _ she hadn’t been half as deserving of it.

But in every cloud there was a silver lining and this one was all Kat’s, Jenn was gone. Jenn was gone and there was nothing stopping her from being with Jonathan whenever and wherever they liked.

Just thinking about it made her shiver, warmth pooling low in her stomach as she wound her hands tighter in his shirt.

“I just…” she breathed, biting her lip as the words caught in her throat. Brazen and shameful.

“ _ What _ ?” He demanded, towering over her, tall and lean and  _ everywhere  _ as he forced her backwards against the desk.

The wood bit hard against the back of her thighs, breath notching higher as her ribs shrank around her lungs. Her whole body flushed, heart thudding painfully as she met his amber gaze, seeing the dominance flare in his eyes again. The  _ power.  _ An edge of danger about him, of absolute control, that had her knees weakening.

The hand in her hair slipped away, caressing her jaw, her mouth, her  _ throat _ . Squeezing ever so slightly and making her thighs clench.

“I need you,” she admitted, hating the whine in her voice as desperation won out. Whole body on fire with a single look.

“Oh do you now?” It was almost a growl, almost a smirk. His usual perfect facade in pieces, all tousled hair and demanding eyes.

“Yes,” she couldn’t help herself anymore, whole body alive as his hand encompassed her neck entirely, taunting her. She surged up on her toes, kissing him desperately.

He pulled back from her with a ragged noise, fingers tightening ever so slightly and leaving her gasping. 

“Not until I say so.” He commanded and she nodded her head desperately, desire killing the last few of her brain cells as his hand lowered, stroking down to finger the neckline of her blouse. “Do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” she breathed, feeling his hips pressing tighter against her, jerking at her unconcious words. She swallowed a smile, running her tongue slowly across her kiss swollen mouth as she met his gaze full on, “whatever you say…  _ sir.” _

He growled. 

“On the desk.”

Class could wait, right now Katrina had other plans.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~tbc~
> 
> Thanks as always for sticking with this story so far! I don’t think I’ll ever find the words to thank you for your kind comments, they really do keep me writing! <3


	13. Pediophobia

  
  


“Are we doing anything tonight?” 

“Hmm?” Jonathan blinked twice, he’d been in a daze for the better part of the week _._ Time slipping away from him like sand as he sank further into his strange relationship with Katrina Vassal and deeper into his plans for her. 

The term was coming to a close, the Christmas break looming ominously at the end of the week and he still hadn’t struck yet. Still hadn’t fulfilled his silent promise to free her.

But that would all change...

“ _ Tonight _ ?” Katrina repeated, startling him from his reverie as she finished his thought for him. His heart thudded guiltily as he looked up at last.

She was at the window of his office, gilded in the sun's dying light as she quirked her head at him. The subject of his every thought and plan.

Every fever dream.

He forgot how to breathe, it had been harder and harder to meet her gaze these last few days. Every time he did he had to bite back the urge to tell her everything, to spill his insides out to her like so much red meat.

He wanted to seize her, bruise her, demand everything from her. To capture every second of this perfect calm before the storm.

His jaw tensed, hands clenching as he fought to look unaffected. To keep his thoughts to himself as she crossed the room towards him.

“Or are you too busy trying to make that paper grade itself by staring at it?” She teased. 

Her potential pulled at him, the gravity around a black hole. Inescapable. Not that he had any intention of escaping, not now when they were so close.

So very  _ very _ close.

“It doesn’t seem to be working,” he smiled almost too easily, wrapping an arm around her waist as she leant against his chair, “but I’m afraid I can’t see you tonight, the faculty meeting starts obnoxiously early tomorrow. Afterwards though, I promise.” 

The lie was sweet and bitter all at once, lightning already surging beneath his skin as he realized exactly how late the hour had grown. How close his plans were to fruition. The sun was already kissing the horizon, the campus grown quiet as more and more students left for the break.

_ Tonight. _

“Very well,” she sighed, oblivious to it all as she leant further into his side, the scent of her perfume clouding his head, “I think I can survive  _ one _ night.”

He hoped so. Oh how he hoped so. If she did survive, i f  she stayed… what glorious things they could accomplish together.

He let his gaze dart to the window, making a show of peering at the sky as his fingers tightened at her waist. Stealing as much warmth as he could before the endless night began. 

“I didn’t realise how late it had gotten,” he said, his face a mask of concern, “take care getting home, won’t you?”

“I will,” she promised, leaning down to kiss him before she headed for the door. Turning back at the threshold, “Good night, Jonathan.”

“Good night Katrina,” his mouth tasted of peaches, burning with the imprint of her innocence as he watched her leave.

She had no idea.

He watched as the door clicked shut behind her, heart thudding like a drum as his whole body came alive. It was time. It was  _ time.  _ He waited five long minutes before following, snatching up the waiting rucksack and taking a shortcut through the back of the building.

He had to get to Redding’s Park before her, the costume burning a hole in his bag as he ran to his car. Parking it out of sight from her usual route he dragged his costume on, breathing easier as the mask slipped over his head. His second skin. 

The beast he kept so carefully restrained pulled at its leash, rising to the surface as he moved unseen into the trees that lined the park’s edge. It was almost a forest really, a dangerous copse of wilderness  _ she _ always took a shortcut through. 

They wouldn’t be disturbed here.

All the watching, the waiting, the late night stalking and early morning kisses. It all came down to this. His mouth curled, stretching into a grin beneath his mask as he found his place between the skeletal trees, the soft crunch of footsteps drifting through the air towards him. 

He pulled out the aerosol can he’d so carefully prepared for her. Poised and waiting. Fate had ordained this moment from the very first.

The time had come to liberate Katrina Vassal.

 

—-

 

Katrina liked the cold. The first swirl of snow dusting the ground like icing sugar as she left the campus and headed home. 

The world was quieter in the winter, a still sort of hush like an indrawn breath just waiting to be exhaled again. Pulling her jacket closer she let herself dawdle, just because she could, watching the flakes float past her as her mind wandered.

If someone had told her on that first day, drenched in sticky heat and lost in the fog of her own mind, that she’d be here now she wouldn’t have believed them. She wouldn’t have  _ cared.  _

But life had changed.

Turning into the park she sighed, thoughts skipping like a stone over the ups and downs of the term. Soaring highs and unbearable lows, the harsh betrayal of her mother, the squeezing panic of her Grandmother’s final gift, all paired up against the warm satisfaction of Jenn’s departure and the heat of Jonathan’s eyes.

The passion he’d awoken in her was like nothing she could have imagined, shaking her up like a bottle just to watch her burst. Her shiver had nothing to do with the cold as she crunched through the dead leaves, branches flexing above her like boney fingers. The thought of the raw power he kept hidden just beneath his skin warming her up from within.

_ Snap. _

A twig broke behind her, startling her to attention as she whipped around. Nothing. There was nothing. She let out a quiet laugh, adrenaline sweet against her tongue as she set off again.

Of course there was nothing. 

The student neighbourhood had been emptying steadily. She hadn’t seen more than the occasional lone straggler on her walks for days now. Everyone else had gone home to their families already.

Katrina wouldn’t make that mistake. Not again.

She didn’t know what she’d do the next time she saw her so-called-mother and at this point she really didn’t want to find out. It was easier to forget her, to forget everything outside of the warm little bubble she’d created for herself. 

_ Snap _ .

Huffing to herself she turned again, already chiding herself for her jumpiness when it struck. She heard the hiss through the rush of her pulse in her ears, gasping as she inhaled a cloud full of strange sweet gas. Sugar sweet really.

And oh so familiar.

It stung her eyes, leaving her coughing as she tried to clear her airway. Tried to see through the fog to the figure beyond.

He appeared like a daydream, a nightmare, impossibly tall as he eclipsed the far, far off glow of the streetlights. Dressed in burlap, his black eyes threatened to swallow her whole as her legs went dizzy and her heart began to beat so hard she could taste blood on her tongue.

It was him.

It was  _ really  _ him.

He’d found her.

 

—-

 

“It’s you…”

She was looking at him,  _ seeing  _ him, the pulse beating visibly in her throat as he drew closer still. He could see the revelation in her eyes, not of his  _ identity,  _ nothing as mundane as that.

But of who he was.

Who he  _ really  _ was.

“It’s you… you’re the Grim.”

_ No. _

“Do I look like a  _ grim  _ to you, little girl?” His voice was bottomless, a rough scrape in a southern accent he no longer tried to hide. Not now. He  _ demanded  _ her recognition.

“No,” she murmured in that breathy whisper of hers, like she couldn’t control herself if she were to speak any louder, “no you look like a… like a  _ scarecrow _ .” 

If the mask could smile it would have done, vicious and determined as he circled her. Drinking in each detail of her moon-bathed face as the toxin did its work.

“And do I  _ scare _ you?”

Her breath was coming quicker now, hard and fast as she raised shaking hands to ward him off. Her fingers caught against the rough burlap, an impossible heat searing into his skin as he crowded in close to her.

“Yes,” she murmured, tongue slipping out to taste her lips as she gazed up at him with eyes so dark they were black, “you scare me.”

A shudder ripped through him, fire spreading beneath his skin as her fingers accidentally dragged across the canvas of his shirt. Half-hard already as he drank in the sight of her, her mouth ajar begging to be claimed. 

She’d welcome it.

But he had  _ work.  _ This was for her. This was important.

And this delicious taste of fear would not be enough. He had to press further, for her own good. Retrieving a second can from his belt he triggered it, letting the thick yellow smoke rise up between them.

Katrina coughed again, stumbling backwards but he was too fast. He caught her with the other hand, whipping her around until her back was pressed tight to his chest. 

“Don’t fight it,” he growled, struggling to control himself as she squirmed in his hold. Warm flesh writhing against him until she had no choice but to inhale.

“Why?” She gasped, struggling to turn her head, to see him as she pleaded, “why me?”

“You know why Katrina,” he couldn’t stop himself any more than he could have stopped the sun from setting, burlap scraping across her cheek as he leant down towards her. Whispering through the mask, “you wanted this. You wanted the fear, now take it.”

Her eyes were endless, unbearable as they met his for a long long moment.

Then she tilted her head back, lips parting as she opened her mouth and  _ breathed.  _ Her body relaxed, bleeding heat into his every place it touched and setting his blood racing. Want itched beneath his skin as she inhaled, welcoming her freedom.

Welcoming  _ him. _

 

—-

 

This was different. The stinging sweetness soon turned bitter in her mouth as Katrina gave into the pull of what he offered.

He was right. She had wanted it. She had wanted it and now… now…

“It’s too much,” she whispered, a high pitched ringing in her ears as she felt her body stiffen and jerk. Snatches of childish songs crowding her skull as the world pitched underneath her feet, “it’s too much I can’t-“

She tried to control it like she had before. To welcome it, to rise above it. She tried to- the songs grew louder. The plink-plink of porcelain feet echoing through her as she moaned, the scrape of china hands against tree bark. Taunts. Games. Gum in her hair. Amber. Her head was too heavy, heart too fast.

It was the ocean but she couldn’t swim. She couldn’t even float.

“I can’t make it stop,” she gasped, drowning in cold air as her chest constricted boa-tight around her lungs. A pitiful whimper rose in her throat, fingers clenched in razor sharp canvas as he whirled her in his arms. She looked up into his masked face and didn’t think she could survive it. “The- the fear. It's not right, I can’t control it. I keep trying but-“

“ _ Don’t _ .” The word came out so harsh and fast she gasped, boney fingers digging into her shoulders as he stared right through her with those hollow black eyes. “Stop fighting it Katrina.  _ Embrace it _ .”

She couldn’t stand it, her entire being creasing in on itself. An unbearable pressure sealing her skin up like a vacuum and crushing inwards. Deep black, pulsing, futile fear.

She inhaled, ribs sharp against her lungs as she clutched onto his hand without thinking. Nails digging in as the feeling threatened to swallow her whole.

Her life was a lie.

Her mother had betrayed her. Monster. She was a monster. You need them. You don’t. You were a mistake. Inappropriate. Cold eyes. Useless.  _ Join us _ . Amber. Gum. Her head swam, stomach cramping as the ache grew until it was a physical thing bruising her from the inside out.  _ Join us. Join us. _

She heard someone sobbing and realised through the fog it was her. “No, not them, not now, please…”

They scuttled from the trees, kept at bay only by the creature holding her upright. His twisted face leaking black tar from its eyes as he shook her.

“ _ Now Katrina,”  _ he demanded, words cracking through her bones like the voice of God, “ _ face them.” _

_ “ _ I- I-“

_ “Face them!”  _ He howled, pushing her into the clearing and giving her no choice but to obey. She stumbled, pain throbbing through her knees as she fell to the floor, hunched over and waiting.

It was time. It was time. It was time.

Anything was better than this, her mind screamed at her. Death. Numbness. Anything but the  _ fear _ .

There. They were there. Limbs screeching as they dragged their way towards her through the black dirt. Smears of it bruising their pallid skin and dirtying their lace petticoats.

_ Are you ready yet Trina?  _ The girl with the straw yellow ringlets sing-songed, her head tilted painfully as she scraped closer.

_ Play with us!  _ The sailor boy with the moth eaten hat squealed,  _ Play! Play! _

Katrina could feel her bones shaking, heart hammering so fast she felt sick with it. Bile coated her tongue as they inched closer still. It  _ hurt.  _ Fire in her veins, spinning in her head, every inch of her fractured psyche screaming as her body locked down, freezing her in place.

_ You will won’t you?  _ The worst of them asked, the saccharine sweet girl with the porcelain sculpted smile, the hairline crack deeper now. A black void through her face. Her own face.  _ Won’t you Trina? _

She’d smashed them to pieces. All of them. Breaking and breaking until her hands bled. But it didn’t matter. They were there anyway. 

They were coming closer.

_ It’ll stop this,  _ she screamed at herself as her stomach bucked and rolled like a ship in a storm, heart aching as they came near enough that she could see the moonlight reflected back in their dead glass eyes,  _ it’ll stop this all. _

One touch and all her pain would be over.

“Yes,” she heard herself gasp aloud, forcing herself to be still, to keep herself from flinching as they crowded around her. So many. A sea of them. So like her. “Yes, I’m ready now.”

Hauling air into her bruised lungs she stretched her arms out to her every nightmare and welcomed them to her.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~tbc~ 
> 
> Sorry for the delay in posting atm guys, I’m in the middle of moving so real life is kinda hectic ^^; 
> 
> Still! I can’t thank everyone still reading and commenting enough - honestly I didn’t think anyone but me would end up reading this! Katrina is very dear to my heart and knowing that there are other people out there enjoying her story is almost unbelievable to me, so seriously - THANK YOOOOU!!!! <333


	14. Scholionophobia

 

 

She fell like Rome. 

Glorious as she burnt, kneeling in the black dirt she opened her arms to things he couldn’t see. She was trembling, every inch of exposed skin ice-white and shaking as she gasped for air.

“Yes,” she called into the night, voice lilting sing song sweet as her gaze fixed on the figments, “Yes I’m ready, I’ll join you.”

He couldn’t have looked away if he wanted too, pacing the periphery of the scene as she called out to her invisible nightmares. He watched the horror in her eyes, the bone deep fear, the  _ bravery  _ as she tracked their progress. The way she flinched.

They must have been drawing closer. Closer and closer and… he swallowed sharply. For a moment he swore he could see an indentation in the meat of her palm, as if a tiny hand had pressed into her skin, but then it was gone and she began to…  _ freeze _ .

There was no other word for it. The shaking stopping one inch at a time, stillness travelling from limb to limb until she was a statue in the forest. 

Porcelain perfect and unbearable.

“ _ Katrina.”  _ He heard her name on his lips, falling to his knees beside her as he watched her transformation.

Her face was as much of a mask as his now, blue eyes glassy and unblinking as the desperate hammering of her pulse in her neck faded, slowing to a steady thump so slight he could barely even see it.

Barely knew she was breathing at all.

“Katrina you must come through this,” he half growled half begged, hand hovering over her shoulder, desperate to touch her but somehow convinced she might break if he did. That pieces of her would fall away in shards from his fingers. “ _ You must accept it.” _

His breath was harsh in his throat, chest tight with the angry hammer of his heart as he hunched over her. A black whirl of frustration and fear and  _ hope.  _ She couldn’t fail him, not now, not after-

Her finger moved.

The slightest bend of the joint, static and sharp as it clenched inward. Then another.

_ Yes. _

Elation engulfed him, sun-bright and burning as her hand began to tremble. A deep shudder running through her form as the stillness broke away, like she was freeing herself from a cocoon. 

She fell backwards but he was waiting, catching her up in his arms and pulling her close. The monster preened, the scientist cheered, and the man… well he was just grateful to have her back in his arms again.

“I felt it,” she murmured, alive once more. Chest rising and falling in an unsteady beat as she looked up at him dazedly, “all of it.”

“And do you still fear it, Katrina?” He asked, head swimming as he drew her closer still, as if he could pull her into him completely. Memorising each breath, each perfect expression.

Her gaze travelled down to her hand, fingers flexing again as if she didn’t recognise herself. 

“No,” she breathed, wonder dawning over her features like the sun as she drew in a heavy breath, “no, I don’t. I… can’t. I  _ became  _ it”

His heart soared, pride bursting in his chest as he grinned down at her. He knew she could do it, he knew she was worthy. His experiment becoming more of a success then he could have ever of dreamed.

Pressing a kiss to her forehead through the scratch of his mask he slipped a syringe from his belt with his free hand. Sliding it into the soft skin of her neck before she could register it.

“Rest now,” he murmured as the drug took hold, her wine dark eyes fluttering shut as she sighed, “you’ve earned it, dearest.”

 

—-

 

Katrina groaned as sunlight cut into her eyes, burrowing deeper into her cocoon of blankets as the day tried to inflict itself upon her.

She’d been dreaming.

She was Dorothy in Oz, replete with pigtails and purple gingham, refusing to click her heels together and go back to Kansas. 

Why should she?

Why return to the dull, grey world when she had lived in colour? When she had met  _ him? _

The Scarecrow had held onto her, long boney fingers bruising her waist as she leant her face into the scratchy canvas of his chest. Warm and real and  _ terrifying.  _ No PG figure of fun but a skeletal wraith with black holes for eyes and a sewn up mouth.

The nightmarish twist to him didn’t frighten her though, not like he should. She  _ liked  _ the raw power clinging to him, the horror of his features, the way her heart beat faster as he drew her close.

Her protector. Her tormentor.

Her  _ saviour _ . 

He cut the good witch down like wheat when she’d tried to seperate them, bending his face down to hers, sewn up lips parting, pursing…

_ Bzzt bzzt. _

Her pager shrieked on the bedside table, the irritating mechanical beep dragging her from her trance with a groan. Dreams were dreams and reality waited.

Rubbing her eyes she hauled herself up, blinking blearily down at her rumpled dress. Why hadn’t she put her pyjamas on? Pulling at the fabric she frowned, casting her mind back to the night before.

Classes, Jonathan’s office, walking home through the park and…

Her heart stuttered, a sharp stab of adrenaline banishing the fog of sleep from her as it all came back. The trees, the Scarecrow, the  _ fear. _

The dolls… they’d gotten her...

She glanced down at her hands, they seemed paler than she remembered.  _ Changed.  _ Oddly still and almost… strong.

Like somehow she had become more than just flesh and bones. Doll and woman at once, fragile and strong and  _ more.  _

_ Face it Katrina, you have to face it! _

How had he known her name? How had he known…?

She shivered, hot and cold at the same time as she cast her comforter aside. Head aching sweetly as she rushed to wash up and change into something less rumpled.

Whether it was real, whether he was monster or maker, it didn’t matter.

She felt  _ strong. _

Free in a way she couldn’t even begin to describe as she smoothed down her hair and painted on her makeup. Her emotions porcelain sharp and somehow restrained all at once, the balance she’d never been able to find before.

Nerves chiming she met her own gaze in the reflection.

Something had happened to her, something unbelievable, and she really,  _ really,  _ needed to talk to someone about it.

No not someone.  _ Jonathan. _

All their conversations about the Grim, the  _ Scarecrow,  _ about fear… it had all come to this. He wouldn’t judge her, wouldn’t shy back in horror at her easy acceptance of what others might call torture. He’d understand her liberation. He’d be  _ happy  _ for her.

Her throat ached, wishing he was with her that second, wishing she could tell him everything already.

Well,  _ mostly  _ everything, she might just skip the bit about her dream, and about how familiar the Scarecrow had felt when he held her in his arms. How her craving for feeling, for  _ fear _ , could get so easily jumbled in her mind with a craving for something else entirely.

Blushing she grabbed her pager, that definitely didn’t need to be shared. She blushed harder when she saw the number.  _ Jonathan _ . The message was brief, he’d been caught at the office but would call her when he was done.

She could wait. Somehow. She could wait.

 

—-  
  


He’d left her sleeping in her apartment, lingering far longer than he should have just watching the steady rise and fall of her breathing. The mixture of fear and euphoria in his veins had never been sweeter.

She had done it.

She had gone through the fire and been reborn.

Now the real fun could begin, he could start to tell her everything. Slowly unravel his plans, his identity, and ease her into her new life. She would be fully at his side, where she  _ belonged _ .

He just needed to get back to her first.

He’d slept most of the night in his car in front of her apartment but then reality had called. He’d barely been home long enough to change before he’d gotten the message, an urgent summons to the Dean’s office on his day off no less.

It was karma, he supposed, for his lie about having an early faculty meeting, not that it made it any better. Or him any more patient.

“Thank you for coming at such short notice, Jonathan,” the Dean smiled weakly as Jonathan entered the room.

“Of course,” he replied through gritted teeth, taking the offered chair. Anger surged inside of him like a wave at being pulled away from his work, away from  _ her _ , “What is this about, exactly?”

“Ah, well,” every hesitation added to his rage, the storm seething inside of him as he fought not to cast the whole meeting aside and run from there. He told himself it didn’t matter, that Katrina would most likely sleep through the morning anyway, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he should be with her. He needed to see her,  _ now. “ _ About that… you see…”

“Please, Dean Perez,” Jonathan cut the man off, knee jerking as his foot drummed an anxious beat against the linoleum, “I would appreciate your directness in his matter.”

Not that he was likely to get it, Perez was an infamous rambler. It made him even more disagreeable than the other idiots that comprised the staff. He liked them even less than they liked him, hearing the muttered comments they made about him at staff meetings. That he was too weird and intense and  _ creepy _ .

Fools.

Perez sighed snatching Jonathan’s attention back to the present. He pinpointed in on the man’s watery little eyes, the way the winter sunlight reflected off the sweat beading on his growing bald spot.  _ Weak.  _

“There’s no easy way to say this,” Perez said, looking everywhere but at him, “but… we have to let you go.”

Jonathan froze, mind going deathly silent as the words pierced his consciousness.

“ _ What?” _

“The schools budget has been slashed this term, and I’m sure you understand that our tenured professors must take priority in this matter,” the man said, stinking of nerves as he twisted his hands together in front of him, “and then there’s the fact that we’ve had some… well,  _ complaints  _ about your teaching methods.”

Jonathan’s eyes sharpened into points, rage turning icy cold as he stared down at the Dean, “What  _ complaints?” _

“Jonathan really, your curriculum is overly weighted towards fear based psychology, almost to the exclusion of all other methodology. Not to mention the fact you routinely expose your students to inappropriate lesson, there was the incident with the tarantulas last year, the snakes, the cadavers, I mean God, man! You shot a gun at your senior class just last week!”

“They were blanks.”

Perez shook his head with a cloying look of false sympathy, “I’m afraid it’s done, take the holidays as you r period of notice. We’ll have someone take over your classes when term resumes.”

This couldn’t be happening. They couldn’t… he couldn’t...

Jonathan took a sharp breath, hatred spreading like frost across his skin as his mind clicked over into the dark place. The place that had no room for petty emotions, only the rage, only the ice cold, calculating  _ revenge _ . 

“You can’t be serious.” He said, the monster allowing Perez one more chance to save himself. To take back his ill conceived words. Generous even now.

“It’s already done, Jonathan. The board came to the decision last night.” The man laid a clammy hand on Crane’s shoulder, milk blue eyes turning panicked as Crane fastened his own over it. Pulling back on the fingers until they threatened to snap.

“You will regret his day,” he seethed quietly turning away with long legged strides. Perez had not been spared, not by a long shot, but this… this would take  _ planning _ . Skill. His revenge had to be perfect.

Perfect and  _ soon. _

The thought hit him as he paced across the parking lot, a memory of perfect joy that had him stumbling. 

_ Katrina.  _

He was supposed to see her, be with her now as daylight broke over her triumph. But he couldn’t. Not like this. 

Not with rage stretching his skin so tight he thought he would burst with it.

No, no no no. He’d have to take care of this before he saw her again. It stung but there was no other option, once this was dealt with, once this was  _ done,  _ then he’d be free to be with her.

To give her the attention she deserved, to reveal his true nature and begin to help her explore hers. Then he could answer every question, soothe every nerve.

But first, he had  _ work _ to do.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~TBC~ 
> 
> We’re getting closer and closer to the end now... I think! These two have kind of taken on a life of their own atm and are getting away from my plot line, cross your fingers that I can wrangle them into another chapter sooner or later!
> 
> Big thanks as always to everyone still reading and enjoying, if you are liking it please consider leaving a comment, they mean the world to me! :-)


	15. Epistemophobia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long but real life has gotten a little crazy in the run up to the holidays! Thank you so much if you’re still reading this though - I really do appreciate it!
> 
> Not much more to go now ;-)

 

  
  


Katrina paced the apartment, fingers knotting together as she glanced back towards the phone.

It had been a day and a night since her last message from Jonathan. A hasty line on her pager claiming that something had ‘come up’ and that he would contact her when he could.

It wasn’t like him. Not at all.

He could be distant sometimes, as could she, they both had their own lives after all. Their classes and studies and work. But he had never been so vague before, or let so long pass without a proper conversation. No matter how brief. 

Another circuit of the hardwood floor and Katrina was about ready to pace right out of her skin. The night in the woods was beginning to turn hazy in her mind, making her terrified it ha d been just a dream after all.

It couldn’t be. She wouldn’t let it be.

If only she could talk to Jonathan about it, see it through his eyes, explore her new edges with his hands. Jaw tensing she grabbed the phone out of its cradle again, dialling before she could think better of it and waiting.

The empty ringing went on and on until his office answering machine cut her off. The sound of his voice on the recording making her knees sag as she hung up again.

She’d left too many messages already.

Not for the first time fear whispered beneath her skin, different than before but just as potent as its icy crawl traced the length of her spine. What if something had happened to him? A car crash, an accident, what if… what if…

No. No this wouldn’t do. She couldn’t keep standing around here waiting, another minute and she was certain her frayed sanity would stretch and snap completely. Grabbing her keys from the side she slung her bag over her shoulder and headed out into the cold afternoon.

If he wasn’t answering in his office then she’d just have to walk to his house, it was a few miles from the student housing but the exercise would do her good. Clear her head.

For better or worse she needed to know he was still okay.

 

—-

 

Jonathan had almost forgotten the satisfaction of a well earned death.

It was a visceral feeling, blood hot and searing. The power, the thrill, the perfect sensation of rebalancing the world. Of turning a wrong against him right.

A debt paid in screams.

It had been a bloody weekends work. Four board members, four arbiters of his fate all served their own. An endless world of fear, of screaming and begging and  _ justice.  _

The experience had been made even sweeter with his new collection of toys. He’d carefully packaged fear into bottles and cans and pills, a different medicine for whatever ailed him, and they’d all fallen to its power, crumpling like children in the face of their nightmares. A weeping, pissing farce of humanity that left them vulnerable to his attack.

Elton feared water, so Crane had drowned him. Made it look like a suicide. Carlisle feared fire so that was easy enough. An  _ accident _ of course. Allen’s phobias were so strong he’d had a heart attack before Crane had done so much as spoken. Flattering if a little anticlimactic, but an easy death to cover.

That just left the last.

Crane looked down at the bloodless face of Dean Marcus Perez, twisted even now in fear, a final silent scream he could savour forever.

To the outside world it would look like a home invasion gone wrong, another in a bizarre cluster of tragedies. Strange perhaps but not unheard of. Not in a city like Gotham. Only he would know the truth, know the perfect satisfaction of taking their lives, tasting their terror. The way the blade had sunk into meat and bone as Perez  _ howled. _

Jonathan shuddered as he positioned the kitchen knife neatly in its place, wiping his fingerprints from the handle and being careful not to step in the blood as he rose. 

It had been a worthy endeavour indeed. One that had filled up the dark void in his soul, soothing his sharpened nerves until he could release the monster and face reality again.

Until he could face  _ her. _

_ Katrina.  _ Despite his best efforts she had never been far from his thoughts, a shadow at the edge of the scene.

He couldn’t help but imagine her there beside him, what it would be like to watch her watch him. He could instruct her in every careful step and plan, watch the fire grow in her cold eyes as she took the knife from him. As she struck in his name.

A shudder traced his spine, heat prickling beneath the scratching burlap of his mask as he picked up the last evidence of his involvement and took his leave of the scene.

The time had come to return to her, even the sweet satisfaction of the death of Dean Perez paled in comparison to  w hat he knew was waiting in her arms.

  
  


—-

  
  


He wasn’t answering the bell.

Katrina shivered under the crooked awning, it had started raining halfway there. The sky unleashing a torrent of icy water that blew in from all sides and wormed its way beneath  the collar of her coat no matter how tightly she held it. She’d had to run the last half mile, breathing hard as she hammered on the door knocker.

The door swung open, hinges screaming as she stumbled in.

“Jonathan?” She called, suddenly unaccountably awkward as she froze in the doorway. The lights were off, the wind howling past her and setting his papers dancing.

She cringed, slamming the door shut behind her and hurrying to set his work to rights. That done she turned her attention back to her search, rubbing her stiff hands together as she wandered across the room. 

It was hardly her first time there, she’d woken up in his house so many times there was a bag of her clothes in the bedroom and a box of her favourite tea above the sink. But that had been different,  _ felt  _ different. The fire crackling in the grate, yellow light settling over the overcrowded room.

Books covered every shelf, every spare bit of floor, notes and thesis and half-empty mugs. If she shut her eyes she could almost imagine Jonathan’s voice drifting through the stillness as he muttered to himself about whatever he was working on. 

But that had been before. Now it was silent apart from the creaking of the wind against the house as the rain hammered hard enough to rattle the window panes. The place felt different now. Heavy and ominous.

And Jonathan still hadn’t answered her.

The kitchen was empty, the dining room too, she  w as about to head up the stairs when the door at the end of the hall caught her eye. The one that was always locked.

Hesitating for just a moment she shook her head before approaching. He always kept his study shut, it was where he kept his confidential patient files he said, his private thesis and the pharmacological components and equipment it was too risky to leave at the university. She respected his privacy but if he’d fallen in there, hit his head or something worse… she had to look. 

They’d joked about it before, she remembered as she crossed the short hallway, she’d called him Bluebeard and accused him of keeping all his dead wives in there. He’d kissed the top of her head and told her not to end up in their with them. What was it they said about curiosity and cats again?

She shivered, blaming it on her wet clothes as she approached the door. Maybe it was silly but she held her breath anyway as she pushed it open, the light from the hallway spilling in ahead of her and illuminating the room.

Desk, chair, cabinets, lab equipment. She let out a huff of laughter, it looked a little bit like a mad scientis t’s lab, that couldn’t be denied, but she’d be more surprised if it didn’t. Jonathan was many things but spatially organised was not one them.

Shaking her head she crossed the room to peep behind the desk, satisfied it was devoid of unconscious boyfriends before turning on her heel again. She’d try upstairs again and if that didn’t yield any results she’d call a cab and head back to the university.

She was almost at the door when something caught her eye, a half open drawer with a scrap of fabric hanging out. Frowning slightly she reached to touch it, it was so out of place amongst the collegiate clutter after all, heavy and rough.

Burlap.

Her heart stuttered, fingers trembling as she tugged the drawer open further. Her whole body moving on autopilot as she pulled the fabric free. It was nothing. It was nothing. It was…

It was a  _ mask. _

Her mind wasn’t working, staring blankly at the heavily stitched up mask with the two gaping black eye holes. It was a coincidence. It was… it had to be…

She shuddered, balling up the mask in her hand and turning to rake through the rest of the drawer ’s contents. Leather pouches, aerosol cans with the labels pulled off and little plastic baggies of yellow pellets. And paper. So much paper.

She pulled the top file towards her, seeking answers in cold hard facts and feeling her heart stutter at the sight of the familiar scrawl.

“Project KVT” she read aloud, breath too loud in her own ears as she flipped through the pages, “Increased subjects dose to 13ml in iced tea, 15ml, 16ml… upped subjects dose to 18ml after break of several weeks, unexpected stimuli added in the form of a box containing dolls… the subject’s primary phobia.”

That afternoon he’d picked her up from the bus station, when he’d carried the box for her and been such a gentleman pouring the drinks whilst she’d answered the door…

The iced tea in his office. The hot chocolate he brought her from the cafe.

He’d been drugging her.

She flicked back and forth through the file, teeth sinking hard into her lip to keep from crying out as she read date after date, experiment after experiment, the Halloween party, the time she’d had that ‘ _ flashback _ ’ in the middle of his class. 

Which meant the mask, the man in the woods...

God. How could she have been so blind? So  _ stupid? _

Tears pooled behind her eyes, scalding down her cheeks as they overflowed at last, the pages falling from her fingers as she picked up the  _ other _ thing again. The burlap mask. 

It still smelt sweet, like fear and pine needles.

Like that night in the park.

Her chest tightened, panic surging up from her stomach with the bitter taste of betrayal. Her pulse beating so loudly in her ears she almost didn’t hear the door click open behind her.

  
  



	16. Philophobia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it folks, the final chapter (excluding the epilogue) deep breath and... here... we... go...

He returned, Spring Heeled Jack with a skip in his step and a smile still twitching  at the corners of his mouth as he darted from the car to the house. No amount of ice or rain or wind could snatch the feeling from him. His work was done. His wrongs were righted.

Katrina awaited.

_ Katrina Katrina Katrina.  _ Her name had become a hymn in the back of his skull, a siren song that beckoned from the shadows. The reminder of how far they’d already come bouying him as he bounded up the porch. Soon, ever so soon, the scales would be lifted from her eyes and his work could truly begin.

First though he had to make him self presentable, scrub the blood from beneath his nails and the shadows from his eyes. Tuck away the now-sated monster until he was needed again.

The door swung open at his touch, he’d forgotten to lock it,  _ again, _  the light still blazing in the hall. He shook his head, it was a familiar oversight, the mundanities of life became a distant concern when the bloodlust struck.

Huffing out a sigh he traced the familiar path to his study, smoothing his fingers through his rumpled hair. The mask was heavy in his other hand, the canvas of his shirt itching beneath his overcoat.

The study door was already ajar,  _ another  _ oversight. 

At least he thought it had been.

Until he saw her.

“ _ Katrina!” _

A mask slipped from her trembling hands, the twin of the one in his own, his notes scattered like snow around her feet. His notes on  _ her,  _ each carefully marked notation on her progress, her reactions, the experiment perimeters and hypothesis and… and…

“I can explain.”

_ Could he?  _ All his carefully crafted words were flaking away like ashes. Fleeing from his own voice, from the pathetic stereotype he’d sputtered with a leaden tongue. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice was shaking, the overhead light reflecting off of wet cheeks and red eyes.

He was expecting her fear,  _ accusation _ . A ranting tirade or a shivering gasp of horror. A fainting spell, a swoon.

Instead she just stood there, pale and cold and looking at him with only  _ betrayal  _ in her gaze. A raw, hurt look so deep it made him flinch.

The monster slinked away, the scientist turned his back, cowards all of them leaving him deserted. Leaving him…  _ himself. _

“Katrina…” his throat tightened, clenched up tight as his mind spiralled. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen, he had it all planned, how he’d slowly reveal the truth, how she’d come to him…

“You… you knew what my mother did to me Jonathan, how she drugged me, took my control away from me, I trusted you and you…” sharp splinters worked beneath his skin, stabbing between his ribs at the hollow pain in her voice, “how could you?”

“Please Katrina, I had to-” he started but she cut him off, a fresh tear tracking its way down her pallid face.

“You had to what?” She asked numbly, voice trembling as she stared up at him, “Lie to me? Treat me as some sort of… _experiment?”_

“No, listen, it was never just about that-” his hands tensed, her pain becoming his own. Scratching into his conscious as he struggled for a way to salvage this. To make her  _ understand. _

This was supposed to be so beautiful, how had it turned out like this? 

“You wrote it all down like I was a lab rat _.” _ Her gaze flickered down to the notes surrounding her again, perfectly still as realisation flickered in her eyes, “You used me…”

_ “I freed you! _ ” He roared, eyebrows furrowing as he threw his hands up at her, frustration winning out at last, he would take her anger, her fear, her passion. But this quiet hurt was too much to bear. “I liberated you from your fears, I  _ saved  _ you. All of this, all of it has been for  _ you _ !”

She was silent, the only sound the ragged inhale of her breath as he softened. Fingers fluttering as he closed the space between them with a single stride, taking her face gently between his hands like she might break with one wrong move.

His porcelain doll.

“I have become the master of fear Katrina,” he opened his heart to her, letting the truth of it bleed into his words, “and you… you can be it’s  _ mistress.”  _

His throat worked, eyes dancing as they strafed across hers. The pause dragged, making his bones ache with the unknown as he prayed to a God he had long since stopped believing in that she would understand.

 

—-

 

“What… what does that mean?”

His fingertips were warm against her cheek, calloused and so familiar it hurt as she tried to read the truth in his gaze. Desperate to somehow reconcile the man she trusted more than anyone else in the world with the cruel scientist who’d used her, the monster who’d targeted her.

_ Saved  _ her.

He had saved her, hadn’t he? But he’d lied too. Betrayed her in the worst way. The way he must of known would slice the deepest. To use her, drug  _ her _ , just like her mother had...

“Tell me,” her voice took a shrill edge, panic squeezing her chest like a vice, “Jonathan  _ please.” _

She needed to understand.

To  _ forgive _ .

If he could just produce some magic wand and take it all back. Be honest from the start, oh how different it could have been...

His hand tightened against her jaw, forcing her back into the moment. Trapped again in the slow burn of his eyes, amber brown and  _ desperate. _

“You were right that day in the cafe,” he said, turning her skull into an echo chamber as he looked right through her into every secret shadowed place, “the Grim, the  _ Scarecrow,  _ it’s always been more than just a prank. A random act of unkindness. It’s about so much more than that, both scientifically and  _ morally,  _ setting wrongs right, getting  _ justice.” _

“Justice?” She repeated, unable to keep from pressing her cheek into his palm. It was warm and familiar, keeping her standing even as the world tilted around her.

“No more lies, Katrina, no more secrets.” He said, hair falling in front of his eyes as he shook his head. The regret in his voice mixed with something else, something like  _ pride _ . “I have done things that others cannot comprehend, I have spread fear, taken action, I have rebalanced the scales with blood and bone. The world is full of bullies and I alone have acted where society won’t.”

“Are you a killer?”  She had to know the truth. All of the truth.

“Yes.” He stilled, fingers going slack against her jaw as he drew back just a fraction, “I have taken lives, some were collateral damage in the pursuit of science but others… others tasted the justice of fear. The ones who hurt me first… well, they reaped their own rewards.”

“Like your grandmother?”

“She deserved to die,” there was no regret in him when he said it, no hesitation, “I deserved my revenge. And so do you.”

“I… I… What do you mean?” Heat rushed to her face as she stumbled over her words, guilt squirming up in her belly even as she tried to fight it back. Tried to deny the truth of it.

“Your grandmother. Your mother. Your  _ roommate _ . Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about what justice would look like for them. Not after what they’ve don e to you.” The soft surety of his voice made her falter, throat suddenly dry as she met his driving gaze, “let me help you. Together we can make it right, I can show you the  _ beauty  _ in fear. No one understands it, Katrina, they can’t comprehend it. But you could, I knew it from the moment I met you. You crave it, like I do.”

Her heart was picking up, thudding traitorously fast against her ribs with every certain word _.  _ She’d wanted revenge didn’t she? She’d spent hours imaging it for her mother in Connecticut, and the accident with Jenn and the hair remover… well, maybe it hadn’t been so accidental. Maybe… maybe…

“What did you see?” The words cut her thoughts off, breath catching as he forced her eyes up to his again. His voice more felt than heard, “that night in the woods, what did you see?”

“The dolls came for me,” she whispered, unable to look away. His skin becoming burlap against her cheek, amber brown eyes bleeding to black, “you know that. You were there.”

“I was,” he admitted, “I will  _ always _ be there. What happened then?”

“I…” she hesitated, head swimming. All the things she’d come here to tell him coming back to her, how it had felt, how it had affected everything. She had wanted to...

“ _ Tell me.” _

“I… I changed,” She couldn’t look away from him, suddenly seeing her monster in his face. Her  _ liberator _ . “It was all my worst fears come true, they touched me and I turned cold, heavy,  _ hard.  _ I became them, and then… then I became more then them. More than I’d ever been. I can’t describe it.”

“I can,” he murmured, “I know what it’s like Katrina, to find yourself in your fear. To  _ become  _ it. The mask, the  _ Scarecrow _ , it’s as much my face as this is. Just another part of me. Like the doll is a part of  _ you _ .”

She caught his wrist in her hand, fingers tightening as she momentarily lost herself in the understanding in his eyes. The raw feeling that so perfectly mirrored  her own.

He’d lied to her.

He’d saved her.

“Why didn’t you tell me the truth,” she asked quietly. One word, one phrase and she could fall either way, “why the secrecy? The drugs?”

“Would you have listened?” He asked, thumb brushing the tear tracks from her cheeks, “I knew the moment I met you that you were different, that it was my destiny to help you unlock your potential. Tell me, if I’d told you at that first meeting that I was the one who’d caused the attack - would you ever have accepted me?”

“I… I don’t know…” she admitted, hating her uncertainty. How her bones quaked with the effort of keeping herself together, “you never let me find out.”

“I’m sorry Katrina,” the words hit her hard, serious as a heart attack as he met her gaze without flinching, “I thought it was the only way. Do you hate me for it, the things I’ve done to liberate your mind?”

“No.” She couldn’t lie to him, not even now. She hated the lies, the  _ notes,  _ the twisted web of deceit and drugs he’d woven around her life, but her feelings hadn’t changed. She couldn’t hate him.

And the facts of it stood, he  _ had _ saved her. Woken her up from her chemically induced haze and exposed her to reality, to the sweet siren call of fear. Then, when she thought it had been too much for her, that she’d be crushed under the weight of it, he’d pushed her through it and into the other side.

Into something  _ better _ .

“Do you despise what I do, levelling the playing field as you once put it? That I use my knowledge to bring balance to an unequal world?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, heart thumping in her throat as she shook her head ever so slightly. Killer or not she couldn’t judge him for it, not even now.

“No.”

“Katrina,” the sound of her name, hushed and still, made her open her eyes. Trapped once more in the steady sap of his gaze. “Will you join me, become my true partner in fear and help me right what this world has put wrong?”

Her heart caught, any thought of protest fading away with a single question. With the one truth she could never escape.

She wanted him, whatever the cost, and more than that… she wanted  _ this.  _

“Yes.”


	17. Epilogophobia

 

“Here.”

A gift box was passed across the scarred surface of the table, orange ribbon curling at the edges where it came to rest atop her mess of papers and books.

“Jonathan,” Katrina looked up in surprise, brain filled with formulas and statistics as she picked at the box, “Christmas was months ago.”

Three months ago in fact, although to Katrina it might of well have been three years. So much had changed. _Everything_ had changed.

She’d switched majors as soon as the office at the university reopened, changing from English Lit to Psychology in a heartbeat and throwing herself into her studies. With Jonathan’s help of course.

It wasn’t just her classes he’d helped her with though. She couldn’t keep from smiling as she tugged at the ribbon, there were no more secrets between them now. All his research, his history, had been laid bare for her. As easily read as the stack of books she was currently buried in. Every plan and formula at her disposal.

All of him.

“I’m well aware when Christmas was,” the corner of his mouth twitched up in the tired hint of a smile. He’d been working long hours recently, his new position at Arkham demanding a lot from him, “open it.”

She shook her head, already lifting the lid as a thrill of excitement went through her. A face looked back at her from the box, porcelain smooth and beautifully painted. Wide lashed eyes and a sweet Cupid’s bow mouth, rosy cheeks on ivory skin.

Doll perfect right down the cracks carved into surface. Broken and beautiful.

It took everything she had to pull her gaze away, eyes flicking back up to Jonathan. He stood awkwardly beside her, hands locked in front of him as he met her gaze.

“The Scarecrow is my face,” he said, nodding at the box, “the Doll has always been yours.”

“Dollface… I like it.” she replied with a soft laugh, cradling the mask carefully in her hands like it might vanish at any second. It was heavier than she expected, the weight of the air filters and voice amplifier hidden in the back making it realer somehow.

It was perfect.

A second box was pushed her way, she set the mask aside to unwrap it, revealing a beautiful perfume bottle inside. It was larger than most with an automated trigger hidden beneath the decorative purple tassel.

“Is this...?” She asked, voice hushed in wonder as she saw all their late night conversations take form, the dreams she’d told him about. Her revenge recreated in three dimensions as she picked the deceptively sturdy bottle up.

“The paralytic spray, it took a couple of batches to get the formula right,” he rubbed the back of his neck, gaze darting away almost self consciously as she looked up at him, “but it should work now. They should be-”

“Just as trapped as I was,” she finished for him, setting it carefully aside before she crossed the space between them, reaching up to trace the sharp line of his cheekbone, “completely caged within themselves, and they won’t have you to save them. Not like I did. Thank you Jonathan… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything,” he murmured, pressing a chaste kiss to her palm, “just tell me you’re ready.”

“Yes,” she nodded immediately, adrenaline starting to rush as she met his gaze, “Who will it be?”

This was it, all their plans would be made real. There was no doubt in her anymore, whatever he’d done before it was for the greater good. For her greater good. Now she‘d have the chance to prove herself to him, prove that he was right to set her free. She’d prove it to _herself._  

Together they’d step out into the darkness and claim it for their own. Whatever he asked of her she’d do, she’d go anywhere, take any life. 

“Irene Vassal”

Even her own mother’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A final massive thank you to anyone and everyone who read this! I truly hope you enjoyed reading it half as much as I enjoyed writing it, it’s been a twisted sort of pleasure getting into Crane and Katrina’s heads and I am really gonna miss writing them. 
> 
> If you did like it I’d be super grateful if you felt like leaving a little comment, they make my life!
> 
> And I couldn’t end this fic without giving a special thank you to Kachina, my incredible alpha reader and great friend, thank you so much for your cheerleading and support deary! You’re an angel!


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